


Cage of Bones

by TenbuHourin



Category: Persona 5, Persona 5 Royal, Persona Series
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Genderfluid Akira, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, P5R compliant but no spoilers until chapter 12, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Harassment, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Smut, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage Drinking, background ShihoAnn, one tiny spoiler about the new velvet room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 223,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenbuHourin/pseuds/TenbuHourin
Summary: Persona's users didn't have a palace.But that didn't mean they were entirely well or mentally stable, as Akechi had been living proof of that.In which Lavenza asks for their help because her Trickster was dying, and the phantom thieves find themselves in Akira's heart, the velvet room a haunted place that was too dark and too sad, each cell locking up his worst memories, and all the times they've failed him.In which they all find a boy that was their leader and their friend, but broken in so many ways his physical body was failing and he was going to die alone in his hometown if they didn't do something.In which Akira finally gets to be saved, and in which there’s a happy ending even for someone like him, after all.
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 415
Kudos: 609





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Behind the Mask](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788855) by [SharkbaitSekki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkbaitSekki/pseuds/SharkbaitSekki). 



Their year as Phantom Thieves of Hearts had come to an end with all the bittersweetness that often defined their lives, Yusuke idly thought as he passed by the Meiji Temple. The cherry blossoms came and went, and, as brief as the flowers themselves, their little group of misfits disbanded. Akira appeared in their lives, changed everything, and then left. 

Yusuke wondered how many tales began just like that one, a boy who appeared from nowhere, and just as he appeared, disappeared. 

Where do people go when tales end?

Realistically, he knew his friend was just back in his hometown, and the rest of the former thieves were just doing other things, in other places, but his heart ached sometimes. He’d caught himself staring outside the big windows of his fancy art school, and wondering why they said their goodbyes like that. 

The seasons changed, and carried the days with them. Early spring got them a bitter farewell. Summer didn’t bring them life or abundance, but failure in their plans to visit Akira in his hometown. Fall wasn’t quite about dying things and faltering loves, as far as he knew, but melancholy had set heavily on his heart. The group chat was more silent these days, and he never noticed before how much he relied on that for some human interaction. 

*****  
  
  
Haru sat on her spacious living room, hands deftly arranging some flowers in a vase. A small pause, a reprieve from all the responsibilities she had. When she finished her task, though, she just turned to look at the room, taking in the elegant couch, the leather armchair. Her father had sat there, in what felt like a lifetime away. She had talked to Sae about his death sitting on that couch. 

Last year had been an emotional rollercoaster, but a part of her missed it. She missed her friends, and her small garden on the school rooftop. She missed gardening with Akira, meeting at LeBlanc with everyone and plotting how to change the world. The whole thing felt a little like a fairytale, in which she had found amazing and brave companions, touched magic itself and went on an adventure. 

She thought of the ballerina painting on the corridor. Wondered if that was how one felt when the curtains shut, and the music was over.

*****

Makoto sat on her desk, a brave new world open to her in the form of new and interesting college level books. But her mind wasn’t on it. She looked outside, and the dark and bleak evening sky spoke to her better than her precious books. 

She wasn’t the same girl who studied just because she was told to, who obeyed orders blindly. But, sitting there, alone in her room as her sister typed furiously a defense for a client, life felt exactly the same as last year, before she changed. Before she joined a group of mad revolutionaries, and found passion in herself. 

She wondered what Akira would say, if he knew of her idly thoughts. She wondered what they all would be doing if there was still a metaverse. She tried to imagine the future, and, right at that moment, it looked a bit dull without all the amazing friends she made last year. Part of her wanted to reach out, try to make them talk more at least online. She did ask things like ‘how’s the weather over there?’ for the friends away from Tokyo, and ‘are you all studying?’, but none of them made up for much of a conversation. 

She opened up a book she bought on impulse, one about how to deal with emotions, and she never thought she would be reading a self help book. But the feeling of having lost something important was heavy in her chest, and she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

***** 

Ann lay on her bed, in a foreign country and in a still unfamiliar dorm room. She had looked like an outsider in Japan, but she still feels like an outsider here, and she wonders if that’s what being half japanese would always mean. For all she had been too foreign for the japanese, she was too japanese in her customs and in lots of small ways she had never noticed before. Being that far away from everything familiar was no unlike walking in a different world. 

But she had walked in a different reality before, and it hadn’t felt like this. 

She thought of Shiho, of her other friends, and wondered why she was always so far from the people she loved. She thought of last year, of how it felt when she finally fell in love with modeling. She thought of her thief outfit, of the silly conversations she held within a cat shaped van. She thought of Akira, and his support, his confidant figure guiding them in their fight for justice. She thought of brave people, who taught her to be brave too. Friendship had always been a big part of her life, and she wondered if she was doing right by it now. 

*****  
  


Ryuji had been sitting on the same plastic chair in the physiotherapy center for the past twenty minutes, watching the sun sink in the horizon. He had never liked stillness, had never been one for sitting quietly, but something was too raw and broken in his chest for him to really move. 

He didn’t think of cherry blossoms, or the poetry of seasons. For him, there was just a distinctly Akira-shaped void in his life, and it was hard. Saying the blond missed him would be the understatement of the century. The feeling his chest was made of nostalgia, and painful joy at remembering of all the good things they had, and something like regret. He thought of small smiles, and of how it felt to lean on the lithe frame of his best friend. He thought of rooftops, and boys with a snarky sense of humour and bright eyes. He thought of the smell of coffee, and of afternoons dreamed away in games and soft laughter. 

He thought of their little group, of adventure and of justice. He missed the chats, the larger than life personalities, the plans and the gatherings. He thought of doing even better than when he was literally saving the world. He thought of making someone proud. 

But it wasn’t quite the same when Akira was so far away, taking with him all of his smiles and encouragement said in a quiet and deep voice. And Ryuji had stubbornly sent him messages, and raged when Akira’s parents enrolled him in summer classes and didn’t let him travel, or be visited by any friends, because they were third years and they had to make something out of their lives. Akira had to try harder than anyone else to get over the stigma of having been arrested. 

And Ryuji had messaged him, but if it was difficult reading Akira in person, it was impossible to do so long distance. He knew at least some of the others had contacted him, but, oddly enough, none of them knew exactly how he was doing. Akira had a way with the words, and before they knew, they were talking about themselves. Ryuji wasn’t dumb enough not to notice, but he didn’t feel… he wasn’t that special either, he thought, to be the one capable of cracking that mystery. That made him reticent, and unsure, and he wondered if Akira noticed. If his prolonged silences were his way of being considerate.

Ryuji thought of his smile, and wished he had had the guts to ask for a video call in all those months. 

He ran back home, wind in his face, and, like it had always been of late, he didn’t feel free.

  
*****  
  


Futaba sat by the counter of an achingly familiar cafe in the backstreets of Yogen-Jaya. 

“We should head home soon. You have school tomorrow.” Sojiro’s voice reminded her, something proud in his tone.

They both thought of how impossible that sentence, that whole scene, would be at the beginning of last year. 

“Sojiro… Do you think… Do you miss Akira?” 

Futaba’s small voice sounded, and he knew her enough to know she was holding back tears. For all strong she had proven herself to be, she still cried in a drop of a hat. 

“Sometimes, I wonder how things would have been if….” - her voice cracked terribly, and his old heart ached too. “If he had stayed here, and it would be the three of us again. I have always wondered how it’d be to have a brother, and… He was that, to me. Don’t you feel like… like our family has been separated?”

Sojiro didn’t answer for long minutes. The old man’s spare apron hung in a corner, gathering dust. He looked at it, and he thought of a boy, quiet and polite, who learned about coffee and practised, who tried too hard for his own good, who had good grades and talked to his cat. He thought of someone gentle and a bit reckless, who took cold words in stride and fought for what was right. Who gave him his daughter, and her smile, back. Who made her have friends, and go on trips, and accepted her oddness, stood by her side like an older brother. He thought of the first few weeks after he left, in which he’d end up making a plate of curry for someone who wasn’t there anymore. He thought of the probation diary that boy gave back to him, which Sojiro kept, but never had the courage to read. Just holding it sometimes brought back memories, and he was an old and gentle soul, who would cry at them. 

“I do.” He said, finally. 

Father and daughter looked up at the small stairs leading to the attic, and pretended their family wasn’t missing too many people. 

  
  
*****

Between all of their varied sleep schedules, and timezones, there was one moment in which all of them were asleep at the same time. In which they all heard the voice of a young girl, which sounded echoey and solemn, not entirely human. 

It was really dark, when they came to. None of them even moved, since there was absolutely no way of even knowing where the floor started or ended. 

“What the eff…”

“Ryuji?”

“Ann?”

“Guys?”

“Futaba?”

“Yusuke?”

“Haru?”

“Mona-chan!”

There was a glimmer in the dark, a very pretty shade of blue, and they all fell silent.

“Please, heed my voice, fellow companions of my Trickster.”

“Lavenza-dono…?”

“Wait, who is she?”

“Ann-dono, don’t you remember? When we disappeared in Shibuya, there was this young girl who welcomed us in the Velvet Room.”

It was a little difficult to forget the day one was almost erased from existence. Even if the names in particular were a bit more difficult to recall. Ann nodded, even if there was no way anyone could see it, in the pitch dark they found themselves in.

“Why are we here, though?” Makoto asked.

“I need all of you to accept a task.”

“What would that be?” Haru politely urged on.

There was a beat of silence, and dread slowly made its way into their hearts. The darkness was heavy with something like terror and uncertainty, and something else they didn’t quite wanted to name, but knew what it was all the same. They had seen the Reaper often enough to know the feeling of death itself crawling around them.

“Your friend, my Trickster… He won’t have much longer if you don’t help him.”

“What?!” Ann demanded, her voice rising.

“Is Akira in trouble? Is someone threatening him?” Ryuji demanded, protective anger clearly in his voice.

“Is it… is this about his heart?” Morgana slowly asked, as if he already knew the answer, but didn’t like it.

“Do you know something, Morgana?” Futaba asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“He is… I mean…” the cat hesitated, his usually upbeat tone nowhere to be found. “I noticed he’s been different since we came back to his hometown. When I ask he just smiles and tells me not to worry. That everything will be just fine.” he sounded dejected, and just this bit reluctant to tell the rest.

“How bad is it, Mona?”

“As far as I know, he just... sleeps. Entire afternoons away, sometimes until the next day. His parents didn't notice. No one will hire him to any part time job. At Tokyo, the city was too big to care for his small problems, his insignificant record. Here, it's everything. Everyone knows. He can't make any kind of connections. He can't even cram at school. His grades are perfect still, but... “

Morgana took a deep breath, trying to talk over the lump in his throat.

"He can't take me to school. His parents didn’t allow him to keep me as a pet, but I couldn’t leave him alone, so he keeps me fed, and I sleep outside. I think he feels guilty, because he looks so sad sometimes when he looks at me. He made me a safe place on the corner of an empty lot nearby, and it’s comfortable, even if it gets a bit lonely. The downside is, I don't know anymore if he's eating properly. I don't really know how bad it is. Yesterday, he didn’t show up to see me until it was dark outside, and he didn’t look well at all. I could feel something was very wrong. I-I panicked, and sneaked into a train to Tokyo. I needed help, but I couldn’t contact any of you. I got really tired when I arrived at the station, so I went to take a nap in an alley before trying to find my way to LeBlanc. And I’m here now.”

Lavenza gently spoke up.

“Indeed, his problem lies in his heart. If you choose to accept, I can guide all of you to the spiritual plane his heart is in, and you can try to help him work through his pain by talking to his shadows, and… reliving with him all the memories he trapped in there. I believe it can give him some of his strength back, by acknowledging and working with him to understand some of his cognitions.”

“Why didn’t you let us in before?” Ann protested urgently.

“You could have reached out to him in the real world, that’s your own responsibility.” Her voice wasn’t angry, but somehow, they all felt terribly disappointed in themselves. “I only resorted to such extreme measures because... “ For the first time, she faltered in her words.

“Because you couldn’t watch him die like that.” Morgana kindly finished her sentence, with a heavy heart.

“W-what are you on about him dying?” Ryuji sounded this close to crying.

“Your friend is…” Lavenza’s voice sounded again, calm, even if her tone was sad. “For the sake of having the most powerful personas to keep all of you safe, he might have… damaged his heart in the process. He had no time to deal with the trauma he accumulated, but he couldn’t let it hinder your progress. Thus, he… bottled up the painful memories, and kept intent on hurting the Personas he harbored. As you all know, Personas are the strength of the heart, and he… he maimed them, punished them all over, and kept his feelings and all of the traumatic events he couldn’t deal with all locked away. His heart got weaker, and as he tried to distance himself from everything he kept locked there, his bond to his soul was stretched too thin and… his soul started to pull away from his body, which is now failing. If you don’t help him now, he will most likely collapse in a few days, and… he won’t wake up anymore.”

“We accept. We will go anywhere for him.” Haru firmly said in their stead. 

“I expected no less from all of you.”

  
As soon as she finished speaking, the darkness was gone, and a room solidified itself around them.  
  


Whatever they have been expecting their friend's heart to look like, it sure wasn't this. 

Yusuke was the first to speak up.

"I didn't know he liked LeBlanc this much, even if Sayuri's painting did brighten up the place." 

Stunned silence followed his words, to which Ann was the first to shake herself out of her stupor to give her own shaking words. 

"W-what? No, this looks exactly like the street in front of the crepe shop in Shibuya." 

"Calm down, guys!" Morgana's voice interrupted the panic rising in their little group, and all of them turned to listen. "I know the feeling of this place. I'm seeing the attic, but I can tell it's not the shape this room should have. For some reason, we can't see its true form." 

Haru's quiet voice piped up. "We are seeing the places we feel most comfortable at, I think." Maybe because her element was psy, but she was good at understanding feelings, at reading people. In a few days, she had been able to see past Morgana's bravado, gently coaxing him to admit how scared he was of losing them. From what she knew, she had a feeling Akira's kind nature would want them to see what they wanted, his own feelings be damned. 

"She might be right." Yusuke looked down, a pained expression crossing his features. "I've said to him before that spending time with him is like looking in the mirror. I've meant it as a compliment, but I see now it's truer than I wish it was." 

"What're you guys talking about? Why can't we see his heart?" Ryuji's voice sounded desperate, and he tried touching the walls to see if he could just find a button or something to make that bullshit stop. 

"It's a defense mechanism." The girl in blue clothes said. "But it's also the truth." Her voice sounded certain, and it demanded attention. "You have all benefited from this. He offered what he knew you needed, you all drew his heart freely, so you can just see the version of it you created. This is a superficial sheen, and it's all you can see now." 

"What do we do to make the room reveal itself?" Demanded Futaba's shaky voice, all of her wanting to be able to just hack her way in. 

"You only had to understand that whatever you were seeing before is not true." 

As soon as she said it, the room shifted in itself, twisting beyond recognition, darkening as the temperature fell sharply. 

When their eyes finally got used to the dim lights, they found themselves in a room filled with cells, a velvety cloth covering the place as an unnatural light dimly lit the place and cast ghastly shadows on the walls. The shadows appeared to be moving just in the corner of their eyes, but whenever they looked the dark was still again. A red light was flashing, giving the room a macabre feeling, not doing anything to lighten the dense darkness inside the cells. An alarm was sounding, a hollow and hoarse sound, piercing the silence and making their blood freeze on its path. 

“This is his heart.”

A stunned silence followed the young girl’s words, as they took in the new room.

"We've been here before." Haru whispered.

“Exactly. Precisely because you all have been here before, I could make all of you walk back here, since you know the way.” The girl said.

"I didn’t know this was his room.” Makoto seemed a little disappointed in herself. “I think that means that if it wasn't for him we wouldn't have a place to go after disappearing in Shibuya." 

“Yes. This room was open for his use, and reflects the state of his heart. Here, he was to nurture his soul, enabling him to face the adversities in his path.” 

They had never really thought about that room. They knew Morgana was born there, and that he was to find Akira, but they never really considered that that room was designed accordingly to him.

"But it wasn't like this before. Even without the alarm, it looked brighter then. It has never been comfortable, but it wasn't this dark. Or this cold." Ryuji weakly pointed out. He pretended it didn’t break their hearts to know their friend’s heart was a prison.

"It has always been dark in the cells of this room here, we just didn't have time to worry about them.” Morgana looked down, guilty. “Our cells were nicer, lighter. And without a toilet or a bed. Like..."

"Like ours was meant to be really short term, and his is for someone with a long sentence." Ann finished softly.

“Will we be able to see his memories, if we find a way to open the cells?” Makoto asked, trying to find a solution, trying to think of a plan.

“I believe so. You will mostly hear and see his own experiences, but a few of them might be from a third person view.” Lavenza explained briefly.

“How's that possible? Isn't here his heart? Shouldn’t we be seeing his memories as he remembers them?” Ann asked, biting down on her lip and trying to will away the fear in her heart.

“He sheltered countless shadows in his heart, and, as you know, most of them are quite common among people out there.” the young girl gently added.

“It makes sense. All of the shadows we fought at requests did look like one of his personas.” Futaba nodded, trying to think of a way of accessing the memories they needed.

“It probably means that if, in the memory we are seeing, one of the people present has a shadow similar to one of Joker's, their view will be shown as well.” Makoto piped up, seemingly relieved at having something to work on.

“Like boosting a sound wavelength. We will see the situation clearer if there are people around him with a persona he has. They will probably reinforce the memory, aching in sympathy.” Morgana added, thoughtful.

There was a rustling sound nearby, and they turned around to look.

Akira stood there, wearing casual clothes Morgana recognized as the ones he had been wearing when the cat last saw him. A pale blue t-shirt and dark blue jeans, brown boots. His stare was blank, but they would have mistaken him for his real self, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was holding a perfect copy of himself by the arm in a bruising grip. They met the gaze of the twin being held up, and startled at seeing red rimmed eyes and tear tracks in his pale cheeks.

Shadow Akira kept his ruthless grip on the crying figure, lifted an eyebrow at them, but eventually shrugged, possibly concluding they were part of some stray memory. Without further ado, he carried on, violently pushing his sobbing twin into a nearby cell. 

“N-no, please. Don’t leave me here.” The soon to be inmate tried to crawl out of the cell, and he was crying with a heartfelt grief. His voice cracked badly, and he was shaking like a leaf.

A loud and sharp sound echoed, and soon enough the crying twin was reeling back from the solid slap he got across his face. He was harshly pushed down, back to the cell, before the door was closed in his face.

“When will you learn that there’s no point in crying?” Outside Akira whispered viciously, a death grip on the bars, looking absolutely repulsed by his pathetic twin sobbing on the floor, uncaring for the way he flinched at the harsh words. 

“I can’t help it!”

“Keep. Yourself. Together.” his twin outside growled, disgust dripping in his tone at the pitiful whine.

His chest was still heaving from the exertion, but shadow Akira didn’t give himself a second to recollect his thoughts. He merely pulled out a heavy lock from his pocket and put it in place. He didn’t seem fazed by the soft crying behind the locked door. If anything, he looked mad at it.

He finally turned to look at the group, and his gaze softened a little, wistfully. Like looking at something precious and so, so out of reach.

“Now, for this memory…” He said aloud to himself, putting his hands in his pockets in a gesture that was so familiar it ached. He frowned. “Odd. I don’t recall when this was supposed to have happened, and why it’s still here.”

“We are not a memory! We’re here to help you!” Ryuji immediately cut in, walking closer to the shadow.

“What…?” he frowned, suspicion clear in his grey eyes as he took a step back, distancing himself from the group.

“It is true.” Lavenza’s calm voice sounded. “You must know this place will crumble very soon if you keep this up.”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Then, he took a deep breath and relented. “Yes.” 

“You don’t want that to happen, right?” Futaba asked hesitantly.

The shadow sighed, looking away.

“Listen, I’m not exactly Akira. I can’t…” He took a deep breath, rubbing his own face. “I can’t do anything besides what he wants to do. I don’t know any more than he does, and he has no idea of how we get out of this.”

“We can help, if you let us.” Ryuji offered, slowly, unsure of how to approach his friend.

He fell silent at that. 

“It’s not… that I don’t want it.” Akira said finally, reluctantly. “But there’s too many tangled feelings and memories here for me to be able to tell what I think about your help.” He answered eventually, and every word sounded like it was torn from his hands. Now they really thought about it, he very rarely talked that much about his feelings. 

“You don’t have to decide it right away, Akira-kun.” Haru gently intervened, a kind smile on her face. Of course they would never leave without saving him, but it was unfair to just dump all of that information on him too. He obviously had a lot going on, and she had a feeling they wouldn’t get anywhere if they kept pressuring him. “We all should talk a bit first, so we can get to know each other better.”

He looked relieved at the offer, and the rest of the group fell silent, trusting Haru’s words, and the seemingly positive reaction they had.

“How long have you been here?” She asked in a light tone, casually.

“I’m not… sure.” He answered slowly, looking around. “I believe I am the closest to the most recent version of himself. But I’m only here when he’s trying to lock something up, so I’m not entirely accurate to himself in real time. I just know that everytime I get here, I’m not the same, differently from the others. They are always the same, stuck in some moment of time.”

“Do you talk to the others?” Futaba tried, going for the casual tone Haru had been using.

“No.” He frowned at that, as if the idea was absurd. “We aren’t supposed to talk. It wouldn’t be a real punishment if we got to enjoy ourselves in those cells, would it?”

“W-why… are they being punished?” Makoto tried to press on, hesitantly.

He didn’t answer. His gaze fell, and he stared at the cold stone floor. His reasons seemed complicated and tangled too, and he himself looked unsure about them. When it became clear he wouldn’t be answering, Lavenza spoke up.

"He believes he can torture the weakness out of himself.”

There was a collective flinch at her words, and they all tried desperately not to show how shaken up they were, barely a few minutes in their mission. They had to center themselves, to find their courage and their hope, without their leader there to crack the riddle and give them a smug, reassuring, smile. It was hard doing that after watching their friend rally at himself for doing something as small as crying when he was sad.

Shadow Akira was still looking at the young girl in blue, considering her words. 

"Yes.” He settled for the admittance. “And whatever I had that still had weakness, even after I tried beating them out of it, is still here." He added, gesturing to the row of cells around them. “I come here when we need to lock something else, and make sure every inmate can’t go out without permission.”

“Why are you doing this?” Ann asked in a small voice. “Do you… think that helps?”

He didn’t answer. Lavenza looked conflicted, and a bit guilty as she spoke up.

“I… said to him, before leaving him, that he didn’t need me anymore. That he could do it alone. He took it quite literally, I’m afraid. He assumed my former role as a warden, and a torturer. I have helped him do it before, torture and executions, since the concept was already ingrained in his mind. I didn’t know it was this harmful to him, nor how to change it.”

“But, Lavenza-dono, why the cells? I remember he did break out. He opened up his cell!” Morgana protested, frustrated with himself for not seeing this for what it was sooner.

“He did, to save all of you, and to stop evil from winning. He could summon his rebellion this deep in his heart because he was striving to do good, not because…” she shook her head, platinum blond hair swishing. “Not because he stopped feeling like a prisoner. After he broke out, before your battle with the fake god, he was back here and everything still looked like a prison. We still executed his personas and torture them for results.” 

"The thing is: it works.” Akira’s voice was firm again, even if he sounded a bit exasperated. “Why do you think I can always keep calm? I know what puts me on the edge, I know what I'm afraid of, and I know what I'm good and bad at. If I can brace myself for it, I can keep going even if i'm scared.” he went on, and didn’t stop at the shocked faces of his friends. “If I replay my worst memories they won't catch up to me on a random day. When I'm scared I can pretend not to be. And it's not a bad thing most of the times, there’s lots of things you can fake it till you make it. 

"I’d say it's the cause of his success and the very root of his doom" Lavenza politely added, looking down at her own polished shoes.

Shadow Akira sighed, but fell silent again. No one quite knew what to say, and the silence stretched on for several minutes. Just as they gathered enough guts to try and ask more questions, he simply vanished.

“Where is he?!” demanded Ryuji, desperation clear in his tone.

“His real self must have woken up.” Lavenza slowly informed them. “From what he said, that shadow never stays here for long. He just comes in to bring new prisoners and memories. In the past, he could do it awake, but the bond between his body and his soul had grown too thin for him to do it like that now.”

“W-we should hurry.” Makoto said, with all the conviction she could muster. It wasn’t much. 

Silent agreement met her words anyway, and they looked around, trying to find their way into some of the cells. They briefly checked the cell they’d just seen being locked, but it didn’t bulge. The lock was recent and sturdy, and the chains were solid. They peered between the bars, but the curled up boy on the floor kept crying and didn’t look up even when called. 

Futaba swallowed down hard, and had to wipe her eyes behind her glasses. They all clenched their teeth and walked away, hearts set on saving Akira, on unlocking all of those horrible cells. 

“Maybe we will have more luck trying the older cells first. Their lock must have gotten weaker with time, and… well, he doesn’t have the strength to keep that many locks intact now.” Morgana valiantly offered around the lump on his throat. 

“It should be that one,” Lavenza pointed at a corridor, indicating a cell just at the end of it. 

They silently made their way to said cell, their steps echoing eerily. The cold was something almost alive, choking them with squalid hands, gripping their hearts and stopping any words from coming out. At the same time, everything felt maddengly empty, from their footsteps to the very air around them. For all horrible the silence was, it wasn’t oppressive. It wasn’t heavy. It was just empty. It seemed to be there to accuse them of nameless sins, and then leave them utterly alone, abandoned and forgotten, with no way out. 

They shouldered it on, though, with clenched fists and hope, because their time as phantom thieves taught them something. They could steal the heart of the whole country. They could help their friend heal his.

They reached their destination, a cell as unremarkable as all the others, but with a rusty lock on its door. They peered through the bars, trying to make out something in the dark. 

Something moved, and they were being stared at by dark grey eyes. 

Akira was sitting splayed on the floor, next to the door, his head thrown back and touching the wall behind him, hands on his lap. He looked at them blankly, uninterested, and proceeded to look away, vaguely staring at some corner of his cell.

“Hello?” Makoto valiantly tried, sounding very unsure.

Akira looked at them again. Blinked. And looked away. His gaze was perfectly empty and vaguely polite as he nodded at them. He didn’t seem mad, but he surely didn’t look inclined to entertain any sort of conversation. 

“Maybe if we could get the Akira that locks all of these shadows up, we might got this one to answer.” Morgana hesitantly wondered aloud, and something in his tiny heart felt too tight.

A very familiar voice sounded, somewhere behind them.

“I don’t think so. The one outside just deals with minor troublemakers.” 

They whipped their heads to look at the source of the voice. They finally located it, another Akira, sitting casually in another cell, far to the right.

“Real Akira made sure to lock a shadow of himself with the most painful memories, you know. To make sure they don’t get out and incapacitate him. We are here to keep watching the memory, until we don’t feel anything about them anymore.” He offered, with a small and charming smile on his face.

“Minor troublemakers?” Ann asked, hesitantly.

“Yes. Like the one you just saw. He comes and goes.” He shrugged. “It’s the part of him who still cries sometimes. He can keep it together for quite a long time now, but he keeps relapsing.” There was a sneering tone in his voice, something not unlike the disgust they heard early on, directed at the crying boy being locked up.

Ryuji had a white-knuckle grip on the bars, and Haru was biting down on her lip harshly as she put a compassionate hand on his shoulder. Makoto tried to take a deep breath, and think of something to say, but her mind was empty. Ann blinked away tears, her hands clenched in fists, but offering a shoulder to Futaba’s shaken up figure. Yusuke tried to remind himself of his own words, which he told Akira a long time ago: ‘your scars make you beautiful’. But Akira’s cruelty with his own pain didn’t look beautiful now, even if it was the resulting scar of a wound in his past.

“Anyway, I don’t think you’ll have any luck talking to that guy you were just trying to talk to.” Akira spoke up again, offering words when they had none.

“What’s the matter with him?” Makoto asked, hands trembling on her sides.

“He’s the one fresh out of his train to Tokyo. He wasn’t that good at talking and not saying anything, as I am.” 

“Why won’t he talk to us?” Ryuji pushed the words out, even if they were shaky, everything in him wanting to do anything to make Akira feel better. 

“I think I gave up on words a long time ago.” Akira said nonchalantly, leaning back, hands on one knee, other leg carefreely stretched out in front of him. “The more I tried to explain anything, the more I got misinterpreted. Words really are the source of all misery.” 

“Why are you able to talk about it?” Yusuke asked, a frown in his face.

“Because I’m one Akira far more in the future, and those things stopped bothering me after some time, maybe because I stopped thinking about them after locking that memories here. I shouldn't have tried so hard to convince my parents of anything. I know that now. They had their own convictions, and it would have never changed the outcome no matter how much I tried to make them hear me out. By the time I arrived in Tokyo, I had already given up on talking. It's cheap, and it doesn't solve shit most of the time. I tried opening up lots of times before and things gave quite a sharp turn to the worst because of that. It just made me lose more and more things, and I was tired. That’s probably why he won’t answer you.”

His words were a punch in the face, and they all needed a moment to find something to say.

“What… can we do then?” Ryuji tried asking, his hands gripping the bars as if he could break his best friend out with sheer will alone. “Should we try to help you first?” He tried, something vulnerable in his voice.

“I don’t think you can help me.” Akira eventually said, his tone light, but his face serious. “Anyway, if you must know, if you really want to help, you should try the old memories first anyway. The locks aren’t the only thing decaying here.” He commented, absentmindedly.

“What do you mean?” Ryuji’s extremely worried voice seemed to make Akira reconsider what he had just outed. 

“Maybe you should ask Lavenza, after all.” He grimaced, looking away. 

They all looked at each other.

“I don’t think he wants to talk about it. He must consider it a weakness.” Morgana dejectly said, tail swishing anxiously.

“Let’s go back and try talking to Lavenza.” Yusuke murmured, tension evident in his elegant features.

They made their way back to the central row of cells, finding the young girl sitting on a beautiful wooden desk. 

“Lavenza-dono, Akira just said something odd…” Morgana politely began. “Something about the locks not being the only thing decaying here. Do you know what he meant?”

“And where do we find the memory of his parents sending him to Tokyo? It sounded complicated, and I think we’d make a better job if we started from there. We don’t know a lot about the time he spent with his parents, so… if we could just see this memory, I think it’d help.” Futaba added, nervously.

"It's not here. It's... gone." The girl answered, looking away, her yellowish gaze staring at some empty cells on her side.

"What do you mean?" Yusuke asked, his mouth flattening into a thin line. The girl merely shook her head.

"His cells are... possibly because he has a very high pain tolerance, but the torture here is..." She grimaced, looking away for a moment. "Even the strongest personas... none of them have managed to survive much more than a week in those cells. His own shadow can survive longer, the memories attached to it are quite strong, but... even them cannot stand much long here. I don't think you'll find any memories of him as a child here. Or anything before he went to your city. That's a wound you'll have to tend to in the material world." 

“Let’s go back, we’ll figure something out." Ryuji managed to say, after a collective shudder from that piece of information. "Maybe we can find some clues on his cell.” 

Makoto tried coaxing the silent shadow to talk to them, but he wasn’t paying attention. His face was carefully devoid of sadness, but there was this hint of despair in his eyes that was easy to miss, if one wasn’t paying attention. He offered a polite smile at her when talked to, but didn’t answer, turning away again to stare at some point of his cell, his gaze miles away from where he was.

They eventually went back to the cell housing the shadow they talked to before.

That Akira didn’t look surprised at the news, and wasn’t particularly bothered. But they must have made very miserable faces, because he sighed, and his gaze softened even more as he got up, and decided to help. He hesitated for a moment, pale hands loosely gripping the bars.

“I don’t know if it’ll work, but… Considering what I know...” He began, one hand nervously rubbing his own neck. He looked up, and found the whole group hanging on every word he said. He sighed again, and looked at Ryuji. “Maybe you can try talking to him.”

“Me? Seriously?” The blond startled, but quickly went to grab the bars, to look closer at the shadow.

His hand ended up touching the prisoner’s one, and Akira immediately pulled away and stepped back.

“He must know you, since you were his first friend and everything. You’re the best bet at being recognized, I guess. Can't guarantee it, though.” He explained, a bit vague, looking away.

“It’s worth a shot. C’mon, guys.” Morgana decided, leading the way back to the previous cell. They spotted the shadow more easily now they knew where to look, and approached him carefully.

“Hey, can we go in?” Ryuji asked by the door.

Silent Akira looked up, blinking a few times. He was quiet for several minutes, but he seemed vaguely more alive, a little more like he was actually listening. He hesitated, but eventually his lips parted to whisper a single word.

“Why?”

“We want to know you better, I guess. I mean, so we can talk to you and know what’s going on and stuff…” The blond rambled, a bit embarrassed at having become the center of the attention. 

“...” He nodded, scooting to sit a bit farther from them, giving them space to sit on the floor too. 

They all entered in a rush, a bit apprehensive of Akira changing his mind. They settled on the floor as well. The shadow had turned to look at the same point he had been staring before, and they followed his gaze.

The room shifted beyond recognition, and while they could still feel the stone floor they sat on, everything else faded away, and they started to be aware of thoughts that weren’t their own. Before they knew it, they were plunged into a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I actually have the next chapter done. And several ahead, because I was struck with holy inspiration or something, and wrote like 100 pages in three days (I finished P5R like, three days ago, and I had too many feelings again. But don't worry, no spoilers about it at all until very very late in this fic). Heads up, the angst, my children... Because let's face it, Akira has some massive trauma. Oh, yes, and I decided to stick to Akira instead of Ren because I felt like everyone was used to it already, myself included. (Even if I think the kanji for Amamiya Ren is beautiful and meaningful. It's really nice to study kanji.)
> 
> Anyway, I should note that I only had the guts (hehe) to post it because I read the fantastic fic "Behind the mask", and, like, decided to take this out of the drawer and put it out there (that's why I listed it as inspired by, even if I wrote it before reading that one). I had already written it, but was planning on just keeping it, but since the first thing that came up when I came here was a fic with a similar idea to the one I had I took it as a signal and posted it (lol). Even if no one reads, it's the thought that counts I guess... 
> 
> If anyone got here, thanks for reading! Any thoughts, please write a comment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One whole day early because the comments and kudos brought me back to life. Thank you so much for the support! 
> 
> (Also, I was editing later chapters and got unsure about if there was something else I should tag. There is some angst, and violence I guess, but I wasn't sure if it would cause problems to anyone... So, please, if, in this or in the next chapters, anyone notices something that should be tagged and wasn't, tell me!)

The Akira in the memories was sitting alone in the train, no cat with him, eyes distant and expression carefully neutral. 

None of them had seen him in his very first day in Tokyo, but it wasn’t that hard to notice it wasn’t a good day for him. He was dressed in his school uniform, even if he wasn’t attending school on that day, just to blend in easier. He had gone out of his way to dress up in his uniform back in his hometown just to avoid gathering any kind of attention. He was someone who knew that sometimes no attention was a good thing. Safer. 

He kept looking outside of the window of an unfamiliar train, his route to the next place ready on his phone. Heart on his throat as he wondered how was he going to even find his way in that mess of a city, with so many people walking around and bumping into him if he stood still a second too long. He didn’t dwell on the fact that normally people would come pick up someone coming for the first time to a new city, even more if that city was as chaotic as Tokyo. 

No one would come to pick him up. You pick up people you actually want to meet, people you would care if they got lost in their way. Definitely not his case. He inserted location after location in his phone, evidently lost in the chaos of such a big city. There were far too many people, and he stood there, lost and intimidated by the crowds of people walking briskly, and kept looking at his phone and trying to find wherever it was this new place his parents managed to dump him onto. 

Futaba knew Sojiro, and she knew he was kind and caring. But even she felt her heart ache looking at the lonely boy by her house’s front door, ringing a bell she ignored at the time. Even she felt a bone deep loneliness watching Akira’s face fall a little as no one answered the door, and he realised his new guardian must have gone out, even knowing he’d be coming. He quickly buried the feeling, backtracking and spending twenty minutes asking around, eavesdropping until he found a clue about where the fuck he should be going. 

He found his way to the small cafe, eventually. He took a moment to steel himself and went in.

They watched as he took in all the demeaning words and cold treatment as he settled on his new life. His guardian barely seemed to remember he would come by, and it was familiar, the feeling of being out of place, a bother and a burden to an adult. His flat expression and polite replies weren't a chore, not when he has known that routine for so long, had it down to perfection. 

The attic had been worse than they all had ever seen it, before he stubbornly tried to declutter it and decorate at Mona's urging. It was filthy, abandoned, with all sorts of things that should have been thrown away lying around. He couldn't stop thinking that that was probably a message of sorts from his guardian. 

He had been just like one of those things, that someone had wanted to throw away, but ended up in the hands of an old man who couldn't be bothered to do it right away, so he left it in the attic and forgot entirely of its existence. 

He didn't comment on the hard plastic crates and thin mattress that made up a makeshift bed. He didn't complain and he didn't say a bad word about it, even when he slipped up a little and his guardian seemed to notice his surprise at the place. He wasn't thinking, really, about what his new place would look like, but he had been working under the assumption that he would be at someone's house. 

It made him feel stupid and ashamed of himself, for having thought, for even a minute, that he would be let into someone's home. 

He accepted the scolding and the harsh reminder that he had been stupid for butting into adult's problems, not a word to try and defend himself, because he had used them up trying to tell his parents, and he had left home empty. 

The boy in the memories didn’t react, but when Sojiro carelessly commented, with a little smirk, on how Akira’s parents had gotten rid of him for being too much trouble, Akira’s shadow in the corner of the cell flinched hard. His teeth clenched and he held his face perfectly devoid of emotion, stopping tears he hadn’t let out in real life either. 

The memory didn’t stop for his grief.

He was reminded once again of how they were going to meet his teachers tomorrow, and how much of a bother he was, as if he could have forgotten it since he last heard it a few minutes ago. 

He cleaned up without breathing another word, until the attic looked this bit bigger, and felt this much lonelier. When he finished, he was met once again with his guardian's words, that weren't a compliment, but weren't a scold either, so he would take it. 

It still hurt, the sheer unfairness of it all, but he wasn't the same as back then, when he had been arrested, all blown wide eyes and a disbelieving, betrayed expression on his naive face. 

He had cried at the police station. He sobbed as stern officers ignored whatever he had to say for himself, yelling at him, telling all about how he’d be convicted. All defendants did, in Japan. His life was over, even if he had barely started it.

When his parents turned up, he had been relieved seeing familiar faces. A part of him thought things would be alright. 

They weren’t. 

He cried in his waiting cell. Cried the whole night. Nothing changed. 

He stopped then. 

Came morning, and he had mastered the blank stare he often sported. He sat on the coth, hands entwined in front of him, staring at the wall. 

He bought fake glasses and hid behind them. 

He knew a little better now than to show his feelings on his face like that. His expression didn't shift even if he was still hurting. If no one knew how broken he was, no one could take advantage of it. 

“Why don’t you go to bed for tonight? You don’t have anything better to be doing, right?”

Oh. 

He was caught off guard when his guardian grounded him for the night, warning him about not taking anything from the store. It's not like he had been planning to steal anything, but he hadn't eaten yet, since it was early, and he had been thinking of actually having dinner that night. Maybe grabbing something from the supermarket?

Well, it's not like he had any money. His parents hadn't offered and he wasn't risking asking for any. Who knew what they would do? They could give up on the whole idea of sending him away, and just throw him on the streets. To be honest, he had been counting on living in an actual house, and he didn't think anyone would be that petty to deny him dinner when everyone else was eating. 

But he wasn't living in a house, and there was no dinner whatsoever. Even though he was fairly sure his new guardian just hadn't been thinking, he was now locked up and with no means of getting any food. Maybe it was some kind of way of keeping him in check? 

It would be cruel, but he learned a lot the past few weeks, and one of the things he learned was that there wasn't really a limit to how cruel people could be, and he had better brace himself for it. Or he'd be caught unprepared and he'd pay for it. 

Like now. 

He wished he could at least take a shower after the long trip to Tokyo, and all the cleaning of the dusty attic. Of course, even if Sojiro had told him about a bathhouse, Akira hadn't had any chance of going there before being locked up, and it wasn't like the cafe had a shower. Well, but it could be a good thing. He was feeling sluggish from his lowering blood sugar and he might have fainted if he soaked in hot water right now. He still wished he had something to eat, and a warm bath. 

Life sucked pretty badly. 

He sighed, resigning himself to washing his face and changing into his loungewear, sitting on the thin mattress.

Damnit, he should have eaten this morning before he left. But his parents' distant attitude towards him, and the barbed words, the coldness of their goodbyes, everything made him unable to really stomach anything. 

After that, he just didn't have any money so he couldn't buy anything from the station. And then he arrived and his guardian showed him where he'd sleep, and he had been moving junk out of the way until night fell. And then he was locked up. Great. 

He threw himself on the bed, hazily looking at the dusty ceiling. He needed a part time job, and fast, or he'd be risking starving. Sojiro would have his head if he so much breathed near his ingredients. Maybe he should have tried to ask for money from his parents. Ok, maybe not, since they confiscated his savings and he was sent off without a single yen on him. 

He sighed again, turning on his side. Was it really worth it, trying to save that woman? The man threatening her was obviously influential, enough that she had covered for him, and threw her saviour under the bus. Which meant the man probably would try again something with her anyway, and Akira had thrown his life on the dumpster and not really accomplished anything. 

He stared blankly at the piled up junk he'd moved out of the way, blinking tiredly. He wondered why he couldn't bring himself to cry. He was in quite a low point of his life, but his face was devoid of any kind of expression. He felt empty, and sluggish, body too heavy to move. His misery felt like just a bother, something almost at the back of his mind. He had been wrung dry, and he found out there was a limit to how many tears you had to cry over something. 

Tomorrow he'd greet his teachers, and after that he'd have school again. He'd think of something. He had to. 

His throat was dry, but he felt apprehensive of trying to get a glass of water for himself. His guardian had told him not to touch anything and he wasn't sure if he was proficient enough to cover all his tracks. If he knew the man enough he'd had an idea if he was the type to notice if a glass was placed differently, or something, and Akira didn't feel like risking it. The man told him if he messed up he was going to be thrown out, and that would be bad. He knew things could always get worse.

That was how he rationalized it, but, maybe, deep down, he was just really scared of messing up again, and his guardian had managed to scare him even more.

He decided to drink water directly out of the bathroom tap, not daring to go into the kitchen and risking accidentally breaking something. It was a hassle walking around when his stomach was hurting and he was feeling quite lightheaded, but he wasn't sleeping feeling this thirsty. 

It felt weird drinking water in the bathroom. A somewhat public bathroom to top. He ended up not drinking that much, and going back upstairs. At least he had shelter, even if the attic was a bit chilly in early spring. His clothes should ward off the chill sufficiently, it wasn’t that bad. 

He went upstairs, sat down on the mattress and stared at the attic. It was dark and very much lonely, with the cafe downstairs closed. The windows didn't show anything from outside, and his phone was very much silent. There wasn't anyone who would talk to him now. 

He decided to go to sleep, his voice feeling heavy on his throat from disuse. It's not like he missed talking at the moment, anyway, it had only ever brought him problems. But the faint ache made him very aware of how little he had spoken that day, and how things didn't look like they would improve anytime soon. But he had relative success that day, not angering his guardian and not warranting anything that would worsen his situation. 

Maybe not talking was a good solution after all. 

  
  
  


He was dragged to school by a complaining Sakura san, and while it was uncomfortable being treated like this, he found out he didn't have it in himself to be as upset as he'd have been in the past. He lowered his expectations rock bottom and was rewarded with experiencing less pain in his interactions. 

“Now, please behave yourself, you hear me?” His guardian stopped in front of the school gates, looking sternly at the boy. “Not that I care about what happens to you. But don’t bring me any trouble.”

They felt a slight movement from the shadow, and pretended they didn’t see the hurt and despair in his eyes. The room was now cold enough to get their hands numb, and noses tingling. They all got up then, the stone floor too cold and too much of a distraction. They turned all of their attention to the memory, desperate to try and find something, anything to help their friend.

Memory Akira didn't move as much as a muscle during the entire conversation with the headmaster and his homeroom teacher, their threats and insults hardly scratching his armour. He was half listening and half wondering if they'd let him go early enough for his guardian to open up the store, giving him time to try and sneak out for some food. 

Oh right, he still had no money on him. He kept forgetting, because he was used to having some savings. He really should just ask for food, his guardian would probably give him some. But, at the same time, he knew adults weren’t always kind, and there were already too many unknown factors to consider in his current situation. He kept walking, pondering about his next move. He eventually decided to watch his guardian, and try to figure out what kind of person he was, and where they would stand. 

He answered when he was talked to, and accepted his student ID without emotion. After all his parents said and did, it was hard to care about what complete strangers thought of him. He would go to school, keep quiet and hopefully everyone would just leave him alone and he'd go through his probation without a problem. 

After that… There was an emptiness in his chest as he contemplated what he’d do next year. But it was too far away, and he ignored the idea.

The car drive back to the cafe was as awkward and uncomfortable as the ride to school. They got stuck in traffic, listening to the bad news on the radio. Sakura-san was complaining about the traffic, and the wasted Sunday, him being a problem kid, the closed store, but he was talking to him. It was… Akira felt weird not being ignored. He couldn’t place what the feeling in his chest was, and wondered, for the first of what would be too many times to count, if he was defective.

He wasn't sure what he thought of his new guardian. He wasn’t sure what he himself was feeling at the moment sitting next to him complaining. 

It should be simple, knowing what he was feeling. But it wasn’t. He tried to look a little closer to the emotion, and found something terrifyingly akin to hope blooming in his chest at the attention his guardian threw his way.

At it, the temperature in the room around them felt almost normal again, but they were too much on the edge to sit down again.

The conversation soon turned again to a very popular topic, of how much of a problem he was, and his guardian complained about it, wondered aloud what people would say of him, for taking in such a terrible kid.

“Why did you take me in?” the question left his lips after some painful consideration.

“I was asked, and happened to agree. I was paid for it, too.”

Oh, right. Money. Ok, that made sense. Why else would he have taken him in? Ensuring the man didn't have to spend anything to have him, it could be lucrative, depending on how much his parents had been willing to pay to have their son as far away from them as possible. It still sounded like a hassle, but maybe the cafe wasn't doing that well and Sakura san had been desperate enough. 

His heart felt cold and emptier than before, and the temperature around them plummeted accordingly, enough for their breathing to start to condensate in front of their mouths in the odd darkness around them, the memory being the only source of light. The boy in the car looked away, grey eyes lost in the distance, and didn’t say anything else.

They came back later than expected, and his guardian ended up not being able to open the cafe. He left shortly after, not before reminding him he was not to go out. It could be a good thing. At least he wouldn't be late tomorrow if he went to sleep extra early.

Again, no lunch, no dinner and no shower for him that night. At least it was cool enough that he hadn't really sweated these days, but he still wished he could wash himself. He wished he had packed at least one snack. 

He sat down again on his makeshift bed, the silence ringing on his ears. His phone hadn't blinked into life even once that day, since there was no one who would talk to him. Even Sakura-san wouldn’t save his number. He didn't have even a book to distract himself with, but, honestly, he was too hungry to really feel up to anything. 

If he had been more prepared he wouldn't be in this much trouble. 

“Oh, that's why he tends to hoard things,” Makoto grimly commented, startling them out of their heartache. “He, like, stocks up on everything. Snacks, drinks, items. Like he's afraid of running out.” 

“Come to think of it, he was the only one who didn't seem surprised or worried about Yusuke's eating habits,” Ann pointed out, and all of them fell silent. Kept watching, trying to find out where they would be able to intervene. How would they even begin to deal with all of that, and help their friend.

The boy in the memories lay down on the mattress, crates creaking slightly under him. He sneezed twice at the dust in the air, and tried to make himself comfortable. He was tired, dizzy from lack of food, noticing distantly the slight trembling that came with it. These things, he mustered, were a matter of habit. As well as his parents, and everything else, he just had to get used to it, and it would stop hurting.

  
  
  


He had been surprised when next morning there was food for him, and his shock must have been apparent, because his guardian huffed and offhandedly said he would at least feed him. Akira pointedly didn't comment on how he hadn't fed him since he arrived at all, and sat down, eating in silence. It was awesome having something to eat, and he dug in, even if curry was quite heavy to eat in the morning. It was delicious, and filling. The glass of water was good too. He practically inhaled the food, and his guardian seemed to take it as a compliment. He said it aloud anyway, just to make sure the man knew he appreciated it. Boss didn’t seem particularly moved by his compliment, but the boy wasn’t really expecting him to be.

Akira could have eaten more, but he wasn't offered seconds and he wouldn't dare ask. At least, he might be able to count on one meal for the day. Things might work out for him. Ok, one plate of curry a day was hardly enough for a growing teenager, but it was better than nothing. It bought him more time to think about how to make enough to buy himself more meals.

He was starting to feel a little optimistic, like he might be able to pull this off after all. He had gone to bed early the day before, and he had woken up early, because he really didn’t want to be late on his first day. He was informed that his route to school was complicated, so he left extra early. 

They watched as he made his way through the trains and all the transfers, looking lost at the sea of people and making lots of turns wrong, his lips flattening in an upset line as he desperately tried to find his way.

_I need to get a grip on how to read maps. If I get lost and end up late, I'll get in trouble with the school, and then I might be rearrested..._

How deftly had Joker handled the maps at palaces, how aware he was at every turn, every nook of where he went. Nothing came for free, and they had all forgotten it.

He left early enough to get to school in time, but they knew he wouldn't make it through the gates in time. They watched as Ann sought shelter next to him, the memory clear. 

_Oh. She's so pretty. I wonder if I could be this pretty. Probably not. Looks foreign. Must be difficult to blend in... I wonder how she does it. She stands out a lot. Her hair is done so nicely, and I think she uses makeup. She’s cool. It would be fun having a girl’s day with someone like her. Wait, no, I wouldn’t be invited to one of those. Oh. I’m staring._

And then she was off with Kamoshida, and he refused the ride because he didn't know the man and he didn't make it this far in life being that clueless. Something about the man put him on the edge, even if he couldn’t quite point out what it was.

A second later, a blond boy stopped next to him, and dark eyes fell upon him. 

He was muscular, obviously didn't abide to the dress code, and was saying something. His bleached hair looked very well maintained, no dark roots appearing, and the strands looked soft. Weird contradiction with his apparently laid back attitude. Interesting. He was a splash of colour and energy into a very grey morning. 

“Are you planning on ratting me to Kamoshida?”

Akira had expected the confrontational tone, but he had been caught entirely off guard when, after being informed of his status as the transfer student, the other boy deflated and apologised. Most surprisingly yet, he offered a smile, and fell into pace by his side, offering to accompany him the rest of the way. Akira wasn’t confident enough about the offer, and he kept his distance. He didn’t want to be told by him to go away. 

It was the very first friendly voice he heard since he came to town. 

Honestly, it had been the first friendly voice he heard in a long time, at least since his arrest for sure. He hadn't realised it until then, when something ached in his chest, the unexpected kindness stirring something in his heart. It hurt, to be honest. But he had been numb, and it felt a little bit like coming back to life. 

As that part of the memory played out, the cognitive room around the group shifted slightly, and, suddenly, they felt a little warmer, as if someone had opened a window nearby. The temperature didn’t quite rise, but they shivered, as if basking in the early morning sun. Too faint to really warm up anyone, enough to make the difference between the cold air and the warm light noticeable.

The castle brought memories back to Ann, Ryuji and Morgana. They watched the very first time one of them walked into the metaverse, and they ached with how much they missed those days sometimes. They watched as the two boys got caught, and thrown in a cell, and they all wondered how many fucking times Akira would have to live through being arrested.

The Akira in the memories, though, wasn’t worried about himself. 

“Forget about me and get out of here!” the boy he just met yelled just as the guards closed in, and if Akira had been faster or smarter, he might’ve had a shot at running away. 

But, as the fool that he was, he was watching the blond boy on the ground being kicked, and he struggled against his captors, a burning revolt in his heart, a damned will to turn this around, to fight, to protect. The guards were too strong for his thin arms, and he watched, in panic, the kind boy on the floor being punched over and over, until he couldn’t get up anymore. 

Akira couldn’t accept that. Why was it always the good people who got the short stick in life? Why would anyone want to beat up and humiliate a kid like that? Why did kids like them have to bow their heads and accept all of that shit adults tried to throw at them? Why did that complete stranger decide to save someone like him, someone no one wanted? Was he really letting that boy die, just because he had been tangled in the absolute nightmare that was Akira’s luck?

They all heard Arsene’s deep and smooth voice, which, really, was just their friend’s voice in a slightly different pitch, but the impact was impressive. Except for Ryuji, none of them had ever heard Akira’s usually composed voice screaming himself raw like that. 

Akira in the memory smiled wickedly, gaze sharp behind the blood pouring down his face, and he was the familiar face of their leader, he was a breath of hope and strength, and he was going to protect that boy on the ground, who was just as foolish as himself.

Arsene bursted into life in front of them, and together they were a sight to behold, they were almost a force of nature. For the first time, the blood red gloves of Joker touched his mask, and he unleashed his heart against the injustice he saw. 

But it wasn’t over, because for Akira, things were never over, reality was never forgiving, and they had to run away. He fought the shadows alone once, and twice, and kept running.

They all remembered getting their Personas, and the sheer exhaustion it caused. None of them had managed even to stand up after one battle after that, but Akira had been the first and he had to keep going or else he and his not-quite-friend-yet would be dead. He fought over and over, running with shaky legs and wielding his dagger with trembling fingers and aching arms. He was running on adrenaline and fear, sheer stubbornness and force of will. 

He talked to a magical cat, and hesitated at freeing it, all of his heart with wounds still fresh after the last betrayals life threw his way. Nothing bad happened this once, and they parted ways. 

And when both boys did get out, after the ominous meeting with the real Kamoshida, he was scolded by Kawakami and scouted to his classroom, with no chance of eating anything for lunch. The cafeteria was already closed anyway.

As he tried to introduce himself to the class, he heard how absolutely everyone knew of his criminal record. The rumors accompanying that fact were absurd, but everyone believed in it. Kawakami asked someone to share a textbook with him, and he heard the disgust at the student’s voice at the idea. The blond girl he saw earlier whispered “liar”, and his heart seized in his chest, a rush of memories of being called that over and over at the police station, at home, at his previous school. All of his hopes of being ignored and left in peace shattered, and he silently sat on his desk. 

They watched, heartbroken, as classes ended and he was told to go straight home, to apparently get the scolding of his life from his new guardian about him being late for his first day. Kawakami’s voice had been serious, and he knew Sakura-san must’ve been furious. He was scared.

He went to see Ryuuji, though. Partly curious about someone who tried to save his life before even knowing his name. Intrigued by the castle. Spurred on by the rumours, wondering about someone who had a bad reputation, as his own. 

Or because he was craving for some interaction that wasn’t made of insults and accusations, of fearful stares and terrible lies about him. Because he felt like he needed a small positive thing, maybe one smile directed at him, before going back and facing his guardian’s fury. The whole school was talking about him, absolute lies, cruel and barbed, and he knew then and there that his school year would be a nightmare. Everyone knew, and the blond boy must have known it too, but he still wanted to talk to him, and see things for himself, and Akira was curious, he wanted to talk to someone who wouldn’t yell at him, or accuse him of anything.

The blond had been quieter back then, and he didn’t smile as much as he did after they started to hang out. Looking back now, the difference was stark. His smile wasn’t as quick as it came to be, after. He was lonely, lived his life being ignored or insulted, no one would talk to him, and he had lost the spark of his smile, the bright look in his eyes he got back after. He was a kid who was used to getting a beating from adults, with a bad leg, crippled, the small joy of running torn from his hands, and nothing remotely good to take its place. He wouldn’t run again, and he would never get a scholarship and make things easier for his mom. He was still kind, but he wasn’t the Ryuji they knew, who smiled and joked, and laughed, and wanted to play games. Full of life.

What Akira saw in that bleary afternoon was someone who didn’t judge him, who was willing to talk to him, but what did that mean? Would they get to be friends? Would he be able to make a friend at all that year? He really didn’t think so, and he was too tired of being let down to get his hopes high like that. Ryuji seemed like a funny guy, honest to a fault, even if short tempered, all of the things Akira himself wasn’t. It would be nice to have a friend like that, but he wasn’t setting himself up for failure like that. They had been brought together by a mystery, and, as soon as that was solved, they would surely part ways.

He pretended he didn’t care, and walked out of the school.

He desperately wanted to have something to eat and maybe some painkillers because his entire body hurt, but he didn't have enough money on him for all of that. He didn't even know where he could find food fast enough to not occur in the rage of his guardian. He couldn't upset his guardian any more or he would really be kicked out.

He did, however, thanks to the weird castle and Ryuji insisting he kept all of the money, had enough on him to buy two cans out of a vending machine and he stuffed them into his bag quickly as he made his way back to the cafe. Sojiro would be locking him up for the night after he got there, so he wouldn't have any chance of getting food again. 

He considered making a quick stop to drink the sweetened soda, but guaranteeing he was back as quick as possible seemed more important. Sojiro would be pissed already, and the public transport was unreliable these days, he had to do whatever he could to be back in record time. 

He could risk trying to drink his beverage while he walked, but if someone bumped into him he'd have lost precious calories he needed. Not to mention how he'd be sticky with soda and with no means of taking a shower. And what if he bumped into one of the many suit cladded men, and they demanded a fee for dry cleaning? He wouldn't have the money to cover for it, and he'd get into trouble. And possibly get arrested again, since the legal system was a joke. 

In very shaky legs, he walked to the station, waited for his train, got to Shibuya and transferred lines, his whole body aching while he walked all the distance back to the cafe. His head was swimming, and he felt weak and exhausted, but he locked his knees and kept going. 

He was relieved at seeing the cafe, even if he knew he was going to be chewed out by its owner. His only worry was if he was going to be thrown out right away. If not, whatever he got would be a bonus. 

He didn't get thrown out, and this time he had something to keep his sugar blood from dropping too badly. Of course, even after drinking the soda, he was still starving, his whole body screaming at him for having exhausted it beyond its limits and kept it without any fuel to heal. 

Maybe tomorrow he would have the opportunity to buy himself some food. And getting a fucking shower. What Sojiro failed to mention about the bathhouse was that it only opened in the early evening. He checked this morning. But early evening happened to be Akira's current curfew. He also needed to do something about his clothes. Sure, there was a laundromat attached to the bathhouse, but it cost money and he needed to eat. But he also needed clean clothes. 

Life sucked. 

He rummaged through the cardboard box which contained his belongings, taking an old t-shirt as well as his loungewear. Then, he went downstairs and took off his clothes, wetting the t-shirt and using it as a washcloth. The group politely averted their eyes, because no one would prey on their heartbroken friend like that. They kept paying attention to his thoughts alone, waiting for when he was done washing himself.

He could at least clean himself, he mustered. There was soap, and he could rinse off without that much of a mess. Sure, the floor was dripping when he finished, but he managed to dry it off with a rag he found with some cleaning supplies. 

He didn't feel one bit more refreshed, and his body still hurt, muscles knotted and aching, but at least he was clean. Unfortunately he wouldn't be able to wash his hair, the sink was too small for him to fit his head under it, but it was better than nothing. His hair didn't look gross yet, it should be fine. Even if he'd have loved washing it. 

He drank water from the bathroom sink again, and this time he drank as much as he could to settle his empty stomach. It was humiliating, and he wondered how his life had gotten to this point.

He felt subhuman. His guardian had forgotten entirely about his bodily needs, but Akira could almost understand why. He didn’t live at the attic as much as he haunted the place. No words. No communication. No one who would look long enough to discern if there was something in there. Quiet steps in the middle of the night. Practised replies and smiles. A constant and vague fear circling in the small space. 

He had been, for such a long time now, just a cage of bones masquerading as human. He had given structure to his chaos, had beaten himself out of innumerous things that made him unstable. Eventually, he managed a composed face, at the cost of feeling a prisoner in his own body. Eventually, he shaped himself into a prison of flesh and bone, in order to trap a heart that ached too much for him to allow himself to feel it. He held it in his chest with the contempt someone would hold a timebomb, ticking, always threatening him with his ultimate demise.

He put on his clothes and dragged himself upstairs, laying down on the bed slowly. Fuck, moving hurt. There was nothing to distract him, and he resigned himself to shutting his eyes closed and grimacing at the pain. The chilly air tensed his muscles even more, and he wished he could have soaked in a hot bath. 

There wasn't a comfortable position to be in when his body felt like it had been run over by a truck, and his stomach cramped up with hunger. The mattress was thin and he was a growing teenager. Even thin as he was, the hard plastic of the crates under him dug into his sides as he lay down. He kept his back to the wall. Stared at the junk he had piled up behind the staircase. Stared at the empty bookshelf, and the empty worktable. 

He watched the vague fear haunting his mind with the corner of his eye, and pretended he wasn’t seeing it.

But the feeling wasn’t as unfamiliar as he’d like to pretend it was. He had known it from before, but he didn’t think of it. He wouldn’t think of going back home.

There was a flash, and the scene changed. Morgana was being served food by Sojiro, who took a liking to the small and cute cat immediately. It was the most interest he had shown over anything Akira had or said. 

“Looks like the chief likes me better than you,” the cat said.

Akira looked contemplative for a moment, twirling a dark strand of his hair. Yes, it did look like that. But he supposed that wasn’t a very high bar. He was relieved that he managed to keep the cat. It was a friend, and the attic got a bit lonely. There was this small feeling of abandonment he couldn’t quite shake, but he ignored it.

Morgana wanted to swallow his own collar in sheer regret, and shame. He didn't know it was like that. He didn't... he didn't understand how a well adjusted human should behave, and it made him fail Akira. He hadn’t known him at the time to know how much Akira would hurt at hearing that.

The scene changed again. Sojiro was asking Akira to stay and talk to him. The hope was thick in the air, convinced he was that if he tried hard enough, he could…

“You can go and get yourself killed if you want, but don’t go dragging other people into your mess. The last thing we want is more idiots like you roaming around.”

A phone went off and Sojiro picked up promptly. Futaba knew it was her on the line. Akira watched as Sojiro’s face softened, fondness in his tone as he talked on the phone. He seemed the type of person who could be really gentle and attentive. Who could genuinely care for someone. 

The problem might not be with his guardian, then.

“If you agree to help me, then… I’ll teach you how to make a perfect cup of coffee. Not a bad trade, eh?”

Akira kept a tight hold on his poker face, kept his posture casual, and gently let go of the hope in his chest. A trade was good. He didn’t really need anyone caring about him. It was an interesting skill, and Akira liked to learn different things. It was okay, really. He was leaving in a few months anyway. 

“Sounds interesting.” His smile came easily. 

The memory abruptly ended, and the room plunged into darkness again, the dim lights coming from the corridor just enough to faintly illuminate the shadow sitting there and guarding the memory. 

“What happens now?” Ann hesitantly asked, holding back tears.

“According to the information we gathered, it should start again in a while,” Morgana mused, trying to be useful, even if he felt very much useless knowing Akira had been suffering this much and they never helped. They might actually have made it worse lots of times. He knew he did.

“We should try talking to his shadow,” Futaba tried to contribute, too, keeping herself together by the sheer want to help Akira faster. “Knowing what we know now we might have a chance of convincing him to… change his mind, I guess. I don’t know what he needs, honestly.”

“We won’t know anything if we don’t try, right?” Ryuji tried to infuse his voice with an optimist tone, even if his words were a bit hoarse from crying. “Let’s go to him.” Even so, his bright smile, fraying in the edges, was the tiny boost in morale they had needed. The group turned to the shadow in the corner.

Said shadow looked up, and seemed uncomfortable being the only one on the floor, so it got up and looked at them, warily. No one knew quite how to breach the subject of the memory. A few moments of silence passed, but none had yet found something to say.

Akira looked more exhausted each passing minute, though, and his knees tried to buckle under him. Ryuji, on reflex, caught him mid-fall, holding a hand that reached out as Akira had stumbled to keep upright. Ryuji put a hand on his back just in case, ready to catch him if he did fall. 

The blond immediately noticed how the hand on his was cold to the touch, not unlike the room they were in. To be honest, Akira felt precisely the same temperature of the stone floor, as if he and the room were the very same thing. It was dangerously cold, and he didn't seem to be able to stand up properly, nor keep awake this much longer. His expression hadn't changed, but the blond suddenly understood, like a gut feeling, how this person was dying. 

It didn't feel real when he had heard this piece of information from the strange little girl holding an enormous book. It was something far, not really solid, abstract. 

But now, as he held the lithe frame of his best friend, and he could actually feel how cold his skin was, and how faintly his heart was beating, it was real. 

"Damn, you're freezing, dude." He breathed a small laugh to diffuse the fear in his chest, and took off his hoodie, immediately pulling it over Akira's head, messing up his already messy curls even more in the process. Said boy looked up, open surprise on his face, flustered and evidently confused. Ryuji took advantage of his pause and manhandled his arms into the offered hoodie, until it hung loosely on his bony shoulders. 

"I..." The soft lavender of the cloth fitted well with his pale complexion and black hair, making him something slightly more alive even if muted, the opposite of how the colour clashed with the blond’s hair. The colour made Akira look softer. He looked at a loss of words too, dark eyes peering at the cuffs, noticing how soft the hoodie felt on his hands. 

"Ryuji.” Makoto disapprovingly called him. “That's a shadow. No matter how cold he feels, no coat will make it better, the temperature has to do with his feelings and his cognition." 

He stuttered, feeling really dumb for a moment, but they were all stunned into silence when the shadow gave a soft laugh, looking up with something like surprise, fondness. It was the most positive emotion they had seen on his face since they were there. 

It was such a small thing to have that much of an impact on him that they all wondered, with heavy hearts, if, after all, it wouldn’t be so hard helping him.

"They're right," he eventually said, but made no motion to take off the hoodie. It was still warm from his previous wearer, soft, and wonderfully comfortable. His usual jackets were made to look serious and cool, but they couldn't warn off the cold or be as comfortable as that. He quietly nuzzled at the neck of the hoodie, face partially hidden as he basked in the softness. He wondered if it made him look weird. Real boys shouldn’t wear other boys’ hoodies, he mustered. Was it too girlish, he wondered. But he had been feeling so cold. No one seemed to think it was weird, so maybe he could indulge just this once.

He wondered if he'd remember that when his true self woke up. He wished he did because it was a wonderful memory. Even if this Akira didn’t quite know the blond well enough to be anything but grateful for the gesture. It was nice that someone cared if he was cold. It was nice that someone would choose to be nice to him. Maybe they got to be friends after all. He wanted friends.

"I knew that!" the blond said, as soon as he regained somewhat of his cool after seeing Akira looking all cozy and happy at being in his favourite hoodie. "I-it's just that I wouldn't feel right if I saw him in this cold without something to warm him up, y'know?” his voice rose slightly in pitch as he tried to salvage his pride. “It must count as something only a shitty friend would do... So, I'm doing it to put our minds at ease or something..." he mumbled, embarrassed, kicking a stray pebble on the floor.

Morgana snickered at him, and he sent a glare his way. The cat cracked a small laugh, to which Ryuji rolled his eyes, and the tension eased in the room.

“It’s… nice.” Shadow Akira whispered, sitting on the floor again and fiddling with the soft fabric.

“You deserve all the nice things, Akira,” Ann whispered, with a bit of an edge on her voice. Angry at everyone who had ever made her friend believe he didn’t deserve any kindness. It made her positively mad, how he had been so surprised at the gesture. How he had treasured it, like he hadn’t seen something quite like that in such a long time he forgot how it was.

Akira seemed unsure at Ann’s words. Maybe because she had called him a liar on their first day in school, and he felt a bit intimidated by her stylish self. He didn’t know her that well yet, and it was jarring having someone he thought didn’t like him say something like that. Overall, he looked slightly wary of them, and they all racked their brains to find a way to gain his trust.

“We’re from your future, you know!” boasted Futaba, pointing a finger at him and trying for a proud stance. 

He looked openingly suspicious at the affirmation, and they all scrambled their brains for a way to convince him. There was no way they could help him if he didn’t trust they were telling the truth. Eventually, Morgana piped up.

“Hey! The other shadows here must know about the future too! And you’re all the same person, so you should be able to sense if what we are telling you is true!”

Shadow Akira blinked, and considered the idea. He was distantly aware of other feelings and memories around him, but he had never really tried to reach out for that. He looked up, at some point in the ceiling, eyes unfocused. The whole velvet room seemed to thrum with energy, a small twinge of something permeating the air for a second. Then, Akira looked back at them, and nodded once. They took it as a sign that he was convinced, and they pressed on, being watched by very intent eyes.

“We can tell you lots of things.” Futaba added, faltering a little in her know-it-all posture. Her voice trembled with emotion when she tried using it again. “For example, I can tell you’re an awesome older brother.”

He stared at the girl, shock evident in his pale complexion. The air seemed alive around them as he searched himself, and received confirmation that he was being told the truth. 

“I love it when you come to tend flowers with me!” Haru piped up, smoothly keeping the streak Futaba started, after noticing she was too choked up to add anything else at the moment. “You’re very good with them, and it’s always a joy spending time with you.” She sounded like she really meant it, and Akira felt his chest tighten in an emotion he couldn’t quite identify.

“... You like spending time with me?” he asked in a small voice, doubt in every line of his face. It was the most they’d heard him say in one go.

“We all do, actually.” Yusuke’s deep voice proudly declared. “Frequently we found ourselves disputing a slot in your very busy schedule. All of us, and other people you got to meet, were quite eager to be with you.”

“Yes, we have a lot of proof on that.” Makoto’s voice sounded very sure, as if she could physically pull out of her pocket said proof. 

“And I’m always with you!” the cat added, with a small jump, happy to have something to contribute. “After that day, we met again, and we began living together. We’re still together in the future. I’ll follow you wherever you go.” 

He smiled softly at them, looking down to pick on the sleeves of his borrowed coat. 

“I don’t know if I can quite believe all of that,” he confessed in a small voice. Even if you reached someone this deep in their hearts, it was hard believing such beautiful things sometimes. 

“But… thanks. If you’re here, I guess that means... “ that someone cared. That if he disappeared one day in that big city, someone would notice. Someone might even miss him. The thought soothed that aching loneliness that had been carved into his heart, and that Akira hadn’t been through enough to stop himself from nurturing a little hope in his chest.

“And… about Sojiro.” Futaba finally found her voice, and put it forward, because there was one truth left that she really had to get across. “You don’t know it yet, but… you got really close, in a few months. He loves you. When you’re not with us, things are not the same. ”

Akira’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide. He parted his lips as if to say something, but no sound came out. He bit down hard on his lower lip, and his breathing trembled. He blinked fast, looking away, trying to get some of his composure back. Eventually, he managed to make himself talk, even if he was staring at the floor the whole time.

“... do you mean that?” he asked very quietly, his voice a little hoarse from trying to talk over the huge lump on his throat.

“I swear I do.” Futaba wasn’t doing any better, her voice a fragile thing, but very, very certain. She had to make him understand. She squared her tiny shoulders and pressed on, with teary eyes. “I don’t know what happened before, and I can’t even imagine what your parents were thinking when they sent you to live with a complete stranger. But… I’m glad they did. Our family is not complete without you.”

His breath hitched, and they were suddenly aware that he was crying, but the image got hazy, and the dim lights didn’t help. His figure blurred as a treasure, and they couldn’t see his face very well. He hid his face behind shaking hands, sobbing, and they could see him again. They sat around him, in silent support, as he let it all out. He cried for long minutes, even if it was so eerily quiet, they wouldn’t know he was crying if they didn’t feel his grief, his hurt, and his hope, all around them. He needed several minutes of heartbroken sobs, and of breaking their hearts all over with a clear pain they all felt like he didn’t deserve. Eventually, he shuddered and tried to breath, wiping his face on his sleeves before they could see any tears. He looked up then, a wobbly and very small smile on his face.

“Thank you.” he whispered in a very shaky voice, and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I began playing, I didn't blink at the non mentions of food, cuz lots of games pretend the protagonist don't eat meals like idk Zelda Ocarina of Time. But then we have Sojiro giving Akira breakfast the next day, and, after unlocking his confidant link, letting you use the kitchen and commenting "Oh, are you making dinner?" - If Akira is making dinner now he has permission, how was he doing when he didn't have said permission?? 
> 
> AND AND Sojiro tells him 'no work, no food' when Akira first starts working in the cafe, confidant link 1-2. Also, after you progress a bit and there are glimpses of Akira at lunch, he has a bun on his table. Which, made me think, because Sojiro said he wouldn't be giving him any money, and you do start with exactly 0 yen. BUT then how are you supposed to buy lunch at school?? 
> 
> AND!! When they're at the buffet, and Akira remembers Shido's voice, Ryuji asks if he's okay, to which Akira says it's fine, but Ryuji looks worried and says he looks pale. MORGANA THEN SAYS THAT'S BECAUSE HE NEVER EATS WELL. And, one could think 'oh, okay, he just chooses to not eat well', but Morgana goes on, saying he himself is only able to eat canned cat food, so it's not about choosing not to eat something. And, like, when Ohya invites him to some sushi, she notes, very surprised, on how much Akira eats, concluding with something like 'well, I guess you are a growing teenage boy'. Which means that, if given an option, he'd actually eat a lot.
> 
> I have feelings. And yes, I'm rewatching the gameplay to get all details right, dialogues included. 
> 
> Also, Ann seems like a very cool person to befriend, she's awesome. I don't really think Akira's the type to fall in love at first sight, but he's kinda eager to make friends (confidants, fine), so I feel like he's the type that looks at someone an goes 'oooh that person looks cool/nice wish I could be their friend'. So I thought that could be an accurate description of his feelings at that cutscene.
> 
> Anyway, I'm rambling. Thank you so much for everyone who got here, and thank you again for everyone who wrote a comment on the previous chapter! As I was saying, I wrote 3 whole pages of comfort after reading it *laughs*.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I should update it while a server maintenance was going on, since it affects the emails, but I concluded consistency is important, so I'll update weekly as always. 
> 
> I'm posting a longer chapter because of the wonderful comments and kudos that keep inspiring me. Seriously, you guys have so many amazing thoughts about this, I keep getting motivated and ending up writing more *laughs* Thank you again for all the support!

Futaba had to sit down again, trying desperately not to cry too. Everyone else was doing a similar effort, some more successful than others, but all of them terribly shaken up by the experience. That was the worst emotional rollercoaster ever, and even if they did feel relieved at Akira’s genuine smile, their hearts still felt terribly small. 

Morgana took it upon himself to say something, so they could find it in themselves to keep going.

“We did a great job, guys.” He sniffed the air around them, meowing happily. “The feeling of the velvet room changed a little. I can tell it’s working.”

Everyone seemed to let go of a breath they had been holding. It was such a victory knowing the little they did had been enough, that they had somehow managed to help.

“Things are going to get rougher from now on, though, and we have to be ready for it.” Morgana warned.

They were terrified at going forward, since they all knew his life only got more complicated. Way more complicated. That first part? That was the easy part. That was literally just his first three days in Tokyo. They shuddered just imagining how bad things would get, before they got better.

Morgana seemed to notice, so he spoke up again.

“It’s gonna be tough, but we’re gonna do it. Failing is not an option.” At that they all stood a little straighter, and their fears were tolerable. They could keep going, however long it was needed. 

Ann eventually asked what everyone else was thinking. 

“Where do we go now?” 

“Maybe we should look for cells with weak locks,” Futaba suggested as they walked down the corridor.

After a row of cells, Morgana abruptly stopped, ears twitching. 

“I can feel something in here, guys,” he said, turning around and staring at a cell on his left. 

The cell was open, no door in sight, and stood absolutely empty. 

They hesitantly entered, shuffling around the small space. They checked the dark corners, and even under the metal coth, but there was nothing. 

“You sure there’s something here?” Ryuji sighed, frustratedly checking under the bed one more time, just in case.

“Well, that’s a surprise.”

The deep voice made the group jump out of their skins, and they needed embarrassingly long seconds to recognize the figure standing in front of them. The long coat, the vibrant red gloves, dark fringe falling over a very familiar mask, a cheeky smirk on his lips.

“J-Joker?”

“Hello.” He put his hands in his pocket and leaned on the wall, exactly how he would when they held meetings inside Mementos. The nostalgia of it made their hearts ache. How they missed seeing him.

“Hello! We weren't expecting to find you here.” Haru’s manners kicked in faster than anyone else’s brain to come up with an answer, and she addressed the new figure. “Why… is your cell open?” she asked, curious.

“The door’s open because my manifestation here is a sign of rebellion. No one can lock me up.” His smile was a bit wider at that, a wild and vibrant rebellion in his eyes. But he was still their reliable leader, still the same Joker who had guided them out of countless pinches, and for all he was a bit intimidating, he cared for them, so he volunteered more information. “I watch this memory, but another one as well. This one just because it's more closely related to me, the other because it’s needed. I can roam around and prevent other memories from being accessed.” 

“So… you letting us watch this memory?” Ryuji tentatively asked, since the memory didn’t start on its own no matter how much they looked around, differently from the last time.

“Hmm…” Joker hummed, crossing his arms. “We could cut a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Yusuke asked.

“Well, I can let you watch this memory, if you answer a few questions of mine.” He made it sound simple, and quite inoffensive, but his smirk was a bit disconcerting. 

“We don’t really have a choice, I think.” Makoto murmured, looking at the group for confirmation. Hesitantly, all of them nodded, and she squared her shoulders, answering for them all.

“We accept it.”

“Awesome!” Joker smiled, seemingly very satisfied. He looked at the group. “Now… Tell me, what do you think of me?” 

That was an odd question. What could he possibly want with that information?

“You?” Futaba asked, frowning slightly.

“Yes, me. Your leader.”

His eyes were alert, even if his posture seemed laid back. He caught every stare at his gloved fingers twilling a cell key around, and every appreciative look at his smirk. He just smiled wider, waiting for his answer. 

“You’re… bold. Charming,” Haru eventually said.

“Do you think that’s a good thing?”

“Yes, it makes you reliable,” Yusuke added, with a small nod. “Your self assuredness reassures us as well.” 

Joker cocked his hips to lean them on the frame where the door would be, blocking the way. Crossed his arms. He really moved like a cat, they wondered, as he tilted his head slightly, his smirk not really leaving his face.

“And what do you think of Akira?” 

They paused for a moment, trying to formulate an answer. Ryuji looked very confused at the question, and didn't contribute. Morgana eventually spoke up.

“Well, he’s... very hardworking. He was this beanpole when he came here, but he started training hard for the metaverse and… he managed to get quite fit in a few months. We trained a lot in the attic, and at the gym too.”

“And he’s… sweet?” Ann offered, trying to remember her friend at school. “He’s kind and helpful, even if a bit quiet.”

Joker smiled at this, his eyes sharp and amused, even if they did glisten a little in a well worn sadness. They felt like it was a bit out of place, but didn’t comment on it. He sat down on the metal coth, one long leg held up by blood red fingers, the other kicking out in front of him. 

"It has always surprised me how you all seem to think Akira has a whole lot of qualities. At the end, it's... how would you have said it?” He looks at Yusuke. “‘The eye of the beholder’? Akira is someone willing to listen, and to help however possible, and you seem to think it's a good thing.”

“You think it isn’t?” Ryuji asked, sounding a bit defensive.

“Back then it was an inconvenience.” He didn’t really answer. “A kid who was always sticking their noses in someone else's business. Lack of common sense. ‘Not a good head on his shoulders that one, isn't it?’ Odd.” His voice was slightly amused as he talked about it. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. “Always talking back and making excuses. Irresponsible. A failure, through and through.” It was hard to place his expression, the mask obscuring his features, leaving only his cryptid smile. They wondered if Joker despised Akira. 

Joker wasn't paying attention to them. He looked contemplative, suddenly quiet. 

He relished on the freedom of not having his thoughts read, of not being a memory. He stared at the corner of the cell, thinking back on his life. Everything seemed to turn on its head for him. Everyone got sympathy for their problems, but him. If it had been him killing off people, he didn't think anyone would forgive him. No one had a kind word for him even when he had done a good deed. It’s not like he thought he had the worst hand in life, but he did wonder why people tended to be so hostile with him. He didn’t think other people should be treated badly, not at all, he really thought kindness could transform people. He just couldn’t understand why it was that he couldn’t have some sympathy. 

It had to be a reason why his element was curse. It could have been how he would punish evil, by cursing it, by bringing it down with a vengeance, storming in like a thief in the night. But he might be able to summon curses with his hand because he himself had been cursed in some way. Cursed with an unkind fate, stuck in an unfair game with a God. His power and his sense of justice were his very undoing, and he would let himself be crushed by it if he thought it would make the world a better place. 

It was odd, how he dealt curses, and his rival dealt bless element attacks. Was it because he saw his power as a blessing? 

If so, was Akira's power a curse? 

Joker wondered, but kept quiet.

“Will you let us watch this memory now?” Futaba asked tentatively.

“Sure,” he answered promptly, with a gentlemanly smile. He snapped his fingers, and the room darkened beyond imagination. Just like that, they found themselves being plunged into another memory.

They were looking at a hall exactly like the one they saw Lavenza a few minutes ago. Real Akira was locked up in a cell facing the table, hands shackled, wearing a prisoner’s garb. A chain in his ankle stopped him from properly moving around. There was an old man sitting at the table, and his slightly creepy voice was saying something.

“... to that end, we must execute your Persona.”

Akira’s composed facade shattered, and he was staring at the old man with open surprise, and fear.

“Do not be alarmed. Personas are personalities that exist within you. Thus, you will only be discarding old personalities to have them reborn as new ones.”

But… why did he have to do it now? He wasn’t ready. He didn’t think he felt much like having that other personality at the moment. And he wanted to be himself still. He wanted to keep Arsene. He didn’t mind collecting new ones, nor fusing them, but… Arsene was his own heart’s strength. He didn’t like one bit the idea of sending him to execution. What would happen to Akira if he executed him? There should be another way.

He tried to back away, but one of the wardens stopped him. Said he had to listen to what her master wanted. He found himself with no choice. He wanted to scream.

Arsene looked at him through the bars, and laughed. A booming, extravagant laugh, that was made to be intimidating, but was warmth all over. It was deep and soothing, for all the theatrics. Akira loved him. He didn’t want to let go.

“I am Arsene - the other you who exists within… Though I may disappear this moment, I shall always be at your side. We shall meet again… When your fate reaches its conclusion.”

They knew, with a certainty that could only come with being inside someone's heart, that, were it not for Arsene's gentle encouragement and his brave parting words, their leader just wouldn't be able to agree with killing him. And maybe Arsene knew that too, because he, his very first persona, was the closest to their leader in both personality and kindness. 

They could see in him the very same bravery of their leader when he had run off in that casino, knowing he would be caught and that he would suffer for it. He had the very same valiant tone in his unnatural smirk as Akira did when he walked into that palace that day, ready to die for all of them. 

Akira hadn’t been able to utter a word to Arsene, watching him being taken away with shaking knees and terror in his heart. He didn’t want to let him go. It felt like a violation. His throat closed up with emotion, and he couldn’t move. Arsene was covered in a thick fabric, his struggling figure bound by chains.

They felt the heavy chains biting down on their own skin, and the asfixia from being covered this tightly. The sound of the wickedly sharp blade descending on Arsene’s covered up figure seemed to cut their heartstrings too. The blade connected, and there was a sudden influx of energy in the memory, but the room they were in felt defiled, wrong, wrong, wrong. Their necks hurt horribly, a thin line of searing agony. There was something horribly painful somewhere in their chests, and if grief had a physical form, they would be sure they had managed to trap it their hearts, and it was trying to crawl out of their throats.

The memory didn't stop, and they couldn't quite suppress a flinch at Akira's shell shocked face, seeing the embodiment of the strength of his heart being beheaded exactly as a criminal of old. The very first to help and shield him from the wrongness of the world had just been sent to execution by his words. But he had to do it, he had to get stronger, even if that meant killing off every part of his heart, torturing pieces of his soul to overcome weaknesses. Even if he wasn’t ready.

To protect them and to fight for what was right, he had given all of his heart, and he rose his own hand to break it over and over, how many times it was asked of him

They felt like they had asked one time too many.

The memory just wouldn’t stop. Akira’s thoughts sounded almost convincing. The scene changed. The velvet room was the same, as was the shackled boy in the cell.

He stared at the electric chair, terrified. If he messed up with this Phantom Thief business, would he ever be sentenced to death? Would he, too, be bound to a chair like that, and electrocuted to death? Would he struggle?

Would it hurt? 

He couldn’t breath past the horror of just looking at that chair. He hated everything about it, to the thick cables indicating the insane charge it was able to deliver, to the leather bounds made to keep a prisoner still while their body fried. He didn’t want to. He was so scared.

But.... Iwai’s weapons were good, but the man wouldn’t sell the good stuff to him if he didn’t help him out at the store, which generally led him to shady people and yakuza’s dealings. Which, surprisingly, wasn’t the problem. The problem was that it took time, and they had heists to be doing. He couldn’t wait for the man to grant him access to new menus. 

But. There was another way. He could get his hands on better weapons, and they wouldn’t be in that much danger if they happened to run out of energy for skills in a palace. They would be safer. His friends wouldn’t hurt as much. He himself would hurt, but it wouldn’t damage his body at all. It wasn’t a bad trade-off. He just had to… 

The room lightened up with a violent charge of electricity. 

His entire body burned in an unnatural way, and he wanted to throw up. There was smoke. He whimpered, and tried very hard not to wonder what smoke was that. If, in real life too, prisoners’ bodies let out smoke when they were electrocuted. He wondered how his body would look like if he ever… 

Maybe that was it? Was his fear a decisive factor in this? Why did every last one of his methods to gain new Personas involve a way to kill off criminals? Was it because he himself was scared out of his mind of having that fate? Personas were personalities. Did that mean that he was purposefully using his trauma and panic to make himself change faster into new personalities? They did say trauma can change people. It was a bit odd that he could use it to make stronger weapons, though. Did that mean he was infusing it with his own dread? With a violent sense of do or die, with his sheer despair and his vicious grip on wanting to survive? Was that why it had to be so scary? 

He was so tired of being scared. But what else could he do? Someone had said it before, didn’t they? That there was no way out of hell, but through it. He bit down on his tongue and decided to keep going.

The scene changed again, but it was hard to tell when the room displayed was the same, and when the boy heavily shackled looked the same. But his dread and fear told them it was another day, another moment in which he had been presented with a new way to torture himself, and he had to make the decision to do it.

He had a grim look on his face as he considered his options. Yes, that persona was strong, but letting them evolve naturally made their stats be all over the place, and he needed a strong attack. He could control it, if he just…

He took a deep breath, looking down at a stone floor exactly like the one they were standing on. He had executed Arsene. He had electrocuted countless Personas. What one more thing mattered? How dare he want to stop when he had had the cruelty of sacrificing Arsene to further his own ends? He couldn’t face him again, when the time came, if he had been a coward too scared to make a few self sacrifices. 

Akira hadn’t managed to work up the courage to call Arsene back. It felt… artificial. That Arsene wasn’t the same one who had been born from his heart. That Arsene would only come back to him on the day his fate reached its conclusion, whatever that was. Until then, he could have a copy of him, but he wouldn’t have him. 

So he used other Personas. There were lots of them, many naturally far more powerful than Arsene had been. There was no reason to call for a ghost of him. Akira could wait until his Arsene decided to show back. Freely, naturally, as he had the very first time.

He had to make him proud when that time came. He had to make it up to all of the wonderful Personas he conquered, all of them that had fit nicely in his life, in his heart. All of them that had been there to grant him their power, and help him. All of them with wonderful stories and amazingly different abilities. He had a debt with all of them. Even if they were just personalities of his, he was grateful still, for each one of them, as he had been grateful for all he had been in the past. He couldn’t let it be in vain.

He ordered an execution on the gallows.

A struggling body was chained and stood on a wooden stage. In a sense, it had to be a stage. He had to watch it. He had to suffer through it, or it wouldn’t work. 

The floor disappeared under the feet of the struggling prisoner, a dry and sudden sound that many criminals and vagabonds and homeless must have heard before throughout the centuries. What a cruel way to die. The haphazardly placed chains looked painful. Akira pretended he wasn’t suffocating, locked his knees and kept looking. The sacrifice made another Persona stronger. He wondered if that was life. Maybe, if he sacrificed his heart enough, he would become stronger. If he suffered enough, maybe he could be better. He never again wanted to feel helpless. 

The scene changed again. Akira was staring at a row of guillotines. 

Oh, he could execute more than two personas at a time. If he really wanted that healing skill, he could have it. He would never again fear that his medicine wouldn’t be enough. He would help his friends who usually had to shoulder the burden of healing everyone through a heist. If something bad happened, and he had encountered the reaper before, ke knew his team could be downed when struck in their weaknesses, and Akira would be the last hope for them. He had to be ready. Of course, executing two pieces of his soul had hurt, and he couldn’t even imagine what five at the same time would do to him, but. But. If he just endured it, push himself a little more, they would all be so much safer. 

The memories started to blur together. 

He had done it before, he could do it again. If he was in a particularly bad day, he seemed to get better results. Being on the edge bore fruits after all. He welcomed even this. The velvet room was even more morbid with that alarm blaring. The sound made him anxious. He didn’t stop. He ordered executions, one after the other, squaring his shoulders and trying not to think how much he had to spend to call a Persona. Justine had said something about how he had to give them something his cognition identified like a fair trade for having a fixed amount of power. And how that could make him accept back the registered information, needed in order to him reassemble that persona in his own heart again. The explanation was good and all, but lots of the time he was just shuddering in thinking what the hell he was going to do about today’s dinner. He eventually figured it didn’t matter. He couldn’t falter now. 

He locked up countless Personas. Forced them to stare at the walls of their cells and wail, cower under the worst torture Caroline, and after her, Lavenza, could muster up. They always came back stronger, usually able to completely ignore attacks that had been their weakness, sometimes able to entirely reflect them back on their attackers. Akira thought it was a commendable ability. He spent a lot of time thinking about the method, and wondering about it. 

He himself had done that, in the past. On the very first time he was arrested, when he was kept in a waiting cell, he cried. He cried a lot, until he couldn’t anymore, and then he took to staring at the wall. The next day, he had mastered his blank stare and a face entirely devoid of emotion. Impossible to read. Safer. It was a good method. Really good. If he could just manage to implement it with other things in his life. Maybe he could rid himself of his weaknesses. 

If he did, maybe, just maybe, he would stop hurting so much all the time.

The memory faded away, leaving them in the same empty cell from before. Joker didn’t look particularly bothered, but they were all almost traumatized by what they saw. Every method he had used to gain new Personas was absolutely dreadful, and quite morbid. If that was what he was doing when he had that empty gaze at the entrance of some palace, it was terrifying how perfect his poker face was. People made faces even when having nightmares. Akira was consciously torturing himself and his face didn’t even twitch.

“Oh, no.” Yusuke’s voice shattered the silence, and they all turned to him to find his elegant face reflecting a sudden, and probably awful, realisation.

“What?” Ann urgently asked.

“No matter the size of the Persona he was trying to execute, they always seemed the same when they were covered up. The same lithe and tall body. It disconcerted me for quite a moment, but I finally realised.” He shook his head, grief in the fine lines of his face. “I’ve sketched Akira before, I know his silhouette. All of them are just him. The external appearance may change, but, at the core, they are all just himself. He really is executing his own self over and over, using that pain and anguish to become something else.” 

“This is… horrible.” Makoto slowly whispered. “This is unacceptable, how can that make him stronger? He’s just self destroying!”

“Am I?“

Joker asked softly, and in a tone that indicated he was open to convincing. Which was even more worrisome. That meant he had good reasons. He got up, casually leaning on a wall. arms crossed in front of him.

“Does it even count as self destructive behaviour if you're doing that to survive?” he wondered aloud, looking up as if considering the small cracks on the ceiling. “If you’re doing that exactly not to destroy yourself? We wouldn't have made it if I didn't have, at each turn and at every moment, a Persona with the right skill set. There were loads of times we desperately needed to hit a weakness to get out alive, and none of you had the means to.” He added, softly, and it was hard to hear him saying it like that, like he didn’t blame them. Like he had never even thought of holding them responsible for it. 

He had a talent they didn’t, and he had to use it. They were already doing their best, so he should do it too.

Ryuji couldn’t stand that.

“But! We didn’t know you had to suffer like this! We could have thought of something else!” Ryuji hotly argued, to the agreement of the rest of the group. Even if they honestly didn’t know what else they would have done. But hurting their friend like that just couldn’t be the only option.

Joker sighed, walking closer to them, putting his hands on his pockets and looking patiently at the group. It was hard to know what he was thinking, with that mask on. 

“What exactly is your purpose here?”

Makoto valiantly answered.

“We want to make you let go of the pain related to those memories. Because you can’t just keep these things locked up, it’s not healthy.” 

“If you do that, I’ll disappear,” he stated, a serious look on his face. He didn’t look scared, though.

“It’s not exactly it,” Futaba tried argumenting. “You’re just a shadow, you’re part of Akira, and he’ll be better after dealing with all of this.”

Joker laughed at that.

“Well, I don’t think you understand what’s happening here at all,” he eventually said, smiling wide. “All the others are too stupid to protect themselves, so I can’t leave.” 

“Well, but you will have to!” Makoto argued back.

“I think you’ll find ‘I don’t have to’ anything,” he teased, stepping back, clearly ready to bolt.

“Wait!” Ann tried reaching for him, but he backflipped on her, unfazed by the tiny space he had to maneuver.

“Huh, not that easy catching me, is it?” His voice was pure challenge and cockiness.

They could see how he toyed so well with the police, back at the casino.

“I embody his strong ideals. I’m here to protect something, and I won’t leave,” he declared, and his words felt unmovable, unshakable as his ideals. 

He took out of his pocket something that looked suspiciously like a smokescreen bomb he used to have on him on their heists.

“See ya!”

“Wait!” 

But Joker was very skillful and very quick. He was long gone by the time the smoke dissipated. They stared at the empty space he had been standing on for a few seconds.

“Well, it’s… “ Ryuji eventually sighed. “I guess it went as well as expected. Joker has an entire deck up his sleeve, the crazy bastard.”

“At least we learned something,” Makoto noted. “I was expecting all of the cells to have a similar structure, but I guess each one is very different from the other. Here he had complete control over when the memory started and when it should end. He also could actually run away, which we haven’t been counting on, I guess.”

“Which means we should be prepared for pretty much anything.” Futaba concluded.

“Should we try going after him?” Ryuji tentatively asked, to which Morgana shook his head.

“Everyone here knows it’s not easy finding Joker when he doesn’t want to be found. Besides, since we're planning on scourging this place and unlocking all of the memories still here, we should be bumping into him sooner or later.”

“Maybe we should try that Akira we saw before.” Futaba suggested. “You know, the one who gave us the tip to make his other shadow talk to us. He seemed more chill than all the others we found here, and maybe by now we can get his door open.”

They slowly made their way back, walking through the seemingly identical rows of cells with Morgana’s and Futaba's help. 

Akira was turned away from them, his back resting against the bars as he looked at some point of his cell. Exactly as they came closer, the lock on his door rattled, and fell onto the ground with a distinct metallic sound. Akira startled, turning around and looking at it on the floor. Looked at them approaching. His eyes widened, and he seemed to panic.

“Hey, man, look! Your lock is gone! We can help you now!” Ryuji excitedly bounced to the door, raising his arm to open it.

Akira quickly held the bars, pushing the door firmly closed.

“No.”

“C’mon, dude don't be like that,” the blond whined.

“Get out,” Akira said, looking quite upset.

“Dude, what! I ain’t getting out without you.” Ryuji stared at his best friend, disbelieving.

“Well, tough luck, I’m not going. ” Akira firmly said, his gaze fierce and his grip tight on the door.

“And why not?” the blond hesitantly asked, taken aback by the negative. He had been so sure that Akira would be happy to be let out of his cell.

The prisoner stared at his best friend for long minutes. Then, he sighed, and looked at the rest of the group.

“I’ll talk to anyone other than him. Those are my terms.”

“What?! What the fuck, Akira!” Ryuji exclaimed, betrayal clear in his voice.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” His best friend shouted back, angrily, and it was so out of place seeing him this upset that the blond deflated, looking hurt.

“Why…? Did I do something? Can’t we talk it out?” he tried, in a small voice. He and Akira very rarely fought about something, and he hated the idea of upsetting his best friend. Surely, if they talked it out, they could make up? Ryuji had probably done something stupid, as he usually did, because Akira wasn’t the type to hold a grudge over small things. The only problem was that the blond honestly had no idea why that shadow was so angry with him.

Akira stared at his best friend’s sad expression, the way that bright smile dimmed and his lips pursued as he, no doubt, started to try and find out what he had carelessly done to hurt him. Typical Ryuji.

“Fine,” he conceded, steel in his eyes. “Whatever.” He gave a bitter laugh, looking down for a moment. “I was getting tired of keeping this secret anyway.” He moved from his spot, letting the door fall open.

They all entered hesitantly, taken aback by the rare display of discontrol from their friend. The cell was slightly bigger than the others. It looked as uncomfortable, though. 

Akira sat down on the coth, frowning slightly, and didn’t speak up. It was rare seeing him brooding so clearly. They wondered what that one was hiding.

“When does your memory begin playing?” Morgana hesitantly asked, receiving a small smile from the boy. That shadow seemed to quite like the cat. 

“It’s… complicated.” He hugged his knees, looking at Mona. “I’m not here exactly because of one event or another. I’m just… a part of him he didn’t want to show,” he hesitantly concluded, sounding a little dejected. “Which means I have all sorts of memories here, but they’re a bit scattered, and some are long gone. His real self should remember them, though. It’s not like he forgets. It’s just that… the trauma sets in entirely, and he can’t perfectly suppress it, as he can with the memories that are locked up,” he huffed at that, one hand rubbing his own neck. “I’m not sure if I can ever get out, to be honest. I’m not here exactly because of a trauma. And you can’t talk me out of my problem.”

“We just want to try helping you,” the small feline said, and it wasn’t hard to see how sincere he was.

“I don’t really think you can, but…” the shadow sighed again, looking up for a while, considering his next words. “As I said, I’m tired of keeping this secret. I hate being coped up here. I’ll take any chance of getting out.”

They all tried to digest that bit of information, but it was honestly heartbreaking hearing Akira talk like that. He sounded entirely out of hope. It felt quite different from the first shadow they freed. Silent Akira seemed to have chosen his captive life, he wasn’t bothered by his cell at all. This one? This one hated his prison with everything he got, but there was something stopping him from going out, and they couldn’t understand what.

“Would you show us the memories you have?” Makoto tried. “If we think together, I’m sure we’ll find a solution.”

He shrugged, not really believing in that possibility, but willing to try.

“I’ll try to keep it in chronological order, but can’t guarantee it,” he said, making a halfheartedly movement with his hand. A broken piece of memory started.

Akira was back in Kamoshida’s castle, fighting with some shadows. Morgana was talking about battle tactics, but Akira was staring at his own Persona, awe and dread fighting fiercely in his chest. 

Arsene had thigh high boots, high heeled, thin, and so high there was absolutely no way that was something a man would use. And red, to boot. It could be something out of a pop star diva, or a femme fatale burlesque dancer, maybe, but, definitely not masculine. His three-piece was gentlemanly enough, similar to Joker’s, even if the red coat over it was ambiguous at best. Too snug on the arms. The puffed up sleeves, like a vintage dress. The gentleman’s top hat. A clash of things that defined genders, blending all together. 

Akira knew why, and his heart felt terribly small. He loved it, but he knew he shouldn’t. He knew why he equaled that look as rebellion, as freedom. 

He looked away, cursing his enemies with shaking hands.

There was a flash, and they were seeing another scene from the same palace. Akira’s first use of the wild card.

Joker had his gun pointed at the small fairy, ready to pull the trigger, but a bell like voice interrupted him. The fairy excitedly took a look at him and went on how alike they were. He didn’t utter a word to her. She wasn’t begging for her life. He didn’t try to pick the right answer to appease her, as he would do to all the others, and he would revisit this moment and wonder. 

How was that the first personality he got, honestly and with no sweet talking, was a tiny female fairy? 

He felt like he knew why, too. She hadn’t felt out of place in his heart. He could honestly understand her, as he understood Arsene and countless others. He didn’t feel like she was that different.

The memory ended, and shadow Akira spoke up.

“You all have seen Arsene, he is a bit androgynous. What kind of man uses thigh high boots anyway?” he looked down, self conscious. “And those heels, like stiletto, thin and so high. Red. I love him, don't get me wrong, but he isn't the most gender compliant thing in the world.” 

It was true. He had a sinuous waist, and his thighs did look more feminine than masculine. He was a shocking blend of a gentleman and a burlesque dancer. A theatrically high top hat, fitting for a gentleman. Heels sharp enough to kill a man, fitting for a free and daring bold woman. Like Arsene couldn’t be on one side or the other of the gender scale.

“The girls would compliment me, oh how sensitive I was, how I could understand them better than most boys. And it was because I did understand, because I felt like them too. None of the feminine personas felt out of place in my heart.” He kicked out his leg again, the same deject look on his face. Like if he could, he would change to something more normal. He would stop liking what he liked, and feeling what he felt. Maybe then he wouldn't be locked up. 

He sighed, irritably, and spoke up again.

“Well, this is bound to be really awkward, so we might as well put that out of the way fast.”

Another piece of memory started.

They saw the elegant buffet, recognizing it as the time when they had gone there to commemorate Kamoshida’s change of heart. Akira was just walking back from picking up food, settling down on the table with his choices.

“Ooh, you brought a ton back!” Ryuji sounded incredibly happy with that.

Akira turned to look at him, something finally clicking into place. He had noticed how attentive the blond was regarding Akira's situation. It had always struck him as odd, because Ryuji seemed carefree and a bit of an airheaded, not really the type to notice things. But he was so attentive with Akira sometimes. 

Even after getting his Persona and starting fighting by his side, Ryuji would still insist he kept all the money. He’d laughed it off, saying it was okay. When Ann came along, the system was kind of already in place, and he never knew if they talked about it when he wasn’t there, but she didn’t question it either. Even before they had established their team, and decided on him as a leader, somehow he ended up keeping all the money they had earned together. 

Akira had managed to buy his first meal, namely two cans of soda, with that money.

Then Ryuji gave him a very expensive model gun, one Akira would never be able to afford at the time. The blond asked him out to eat, took one look at his too thin friend and piled food on his plate, going full mother hen on him. He insisted on paying for everything, even if he didn’t have a lot of money himself. Akira wondered if he was the type who liked to take care of others because he was always trying to take care of his mom. 

He wondered if he liked his company that much because he liked being taken care of sometimes, for a change.

His best friend kept doing it. When things had been really rough in the beginning, he had very subtly tried to help. Aside from the beef bowl time, which had been the first real dinner Akira had eaten since he arrived, Ryuji kept helping in small ways. 

They went together to the airsoft shop, and the blond had seen the prices. He gave a solid 5000 yen bill to Akira anyway, saying it was for covering his own weapon, even if all the weapons had been under that price. Even if Ann hadn’t paid for her part, because they’d never agreed on each person paying for their own weapon, and because, technically, the money they made in the palace should cover it. 

Ryuji just matter-of-factly said he would pull his own weight, and gave him the money. He had then insisted Akira kept the change, saying it was all fine again, which was honestly life saving. Akira had been in a very desperate situation at the time, the money they had made at the palace getting worryingly less with each passing day. He still hadn’t managed to land a part time job, busy as he had been trying to convince Takemi to sell him some medicine, and helping out at the cafe at Sojiro’s orders. At that time, he had around 4000 yen on him.

An average lunch at the school cafeteria was around 700, 800 yen (he could cut off costs there, and eat bread instead, but he'd go hungry the whole day), and for dinner he could get something for 900 yen. Each trip to the bathhouse costed 500 yen, laundry was 400 yen, without the drying. And sometimes he had to go outside his way to school, and that was 400 yen sometimes. He shuddered thinking of that. Not to mention, he could get sick, common cold sick, and he would have to buy medicine then. And then he wouldn’t be working, nor going to the metaverse, and Sojiro had said very clearly he wouldn’t be taking care of stupid boys who got sick. Akira really didn’t want to test that claim. 

So, by the time they went to the airsoft shop, Akira had less than two days of living expenses on him, and his friend’s help came in an awesome time. The blond never brought attention to it, or to the other times he happened to sneak some money or some food on Akira. Ryuji never said a thing aloud about what he must have been seeing for him to be this worried about his friend. They never talked about it, but Akira eventually noticed how Ryuji was always looking after him. It just sort of dawned on him there and then, when they were on that buffet, and the blond had sounded happy, maybe even relieved, in seeing him eating properly.

When he noticed how the blond had been looking after him, yet never asking difficult questions or even bringing attention to what he had been doing, Akira felt a lot of respect for him. He had taken a glance at his too thin friend and insisted they always went out for food after training, ‘my treat, dude, I was the one who invited you’. He heard stories, about a stern guardian in whom Akira didn’t know if he could quite trust, and kept him company, discreetly made sure he always had some money on him. He never made Akira feel humiliated, and he never made it difficult to receive help, because he offered it like an afterthought, like it wasn’t a help at all, like charity was the last thing on his mind. Like he respected Akira too much to even think he could be someone pitiful.

And Akira was… There was something warm, yet tight in his chest he couldn’t quite define. It was such a foreign feeling, being looked after, having someone actually caring enough to look closer. For all everyone looked down on the blond, measured him by his failing grades and bleached hair, he was a very caring person, and he noticed far more than he seemed to let on. For all he’d claim he wanted the fame, he never, ever, breathed a word about all he had done for Akira. He wondered if anyone else noticed how much he did.

“Whaddya think about comin’ up against such ritzy food?” Akira was startled out of his thoughts by the bright voice of the blond, who was still smiling widely at seeing Akira’s plate that full.

“I’m so happy.” He answered honestly, a small smile on his face. 

“It’s cute hearing that from someone like you.”

Akira short circuited then, his chest full of something he couldn’t quite place but it was made of embarrassment and… giddiness? No one had really called him cute. Boys weren’t made to be cute, apparently. He liked it. He found that while he didn’t mind being referred to as a boy, he liked when people used words normally used for girls, sometimes. He wouldn’t mind being called cute again. Wait, had he been called cute though? Ryuji just said it was cute hearing what Akira had said. Probably because it was a bit silly, being that excited about food. It was unconventionally honest coming from Akira, seeing as he always tried to say what would appease his interlocutor better. It was nice, anyway, being told that whatever nonsense he had spouted without thinking was good, that it was… cute. 

He realised, belatedly, he hadn’t answered Ryuji. The blond didn’t really seem like he was expecting a reply, content in picking a fight with a cat. Like he hadn’t made Akira had a sudden, small epiphany about himself. About his feelings.

Then he got… self conscious?

They were on their first trip to Mementos. Ryuji ignored entirely the ‘ladies first’ comment Mona had made, and sprinted to the car. Ann bickered with him, and the two fought to be the first one to sit. Ann must have won, because when Akira went in, Ryuji had ended up in the middle seat. Akira made himself comfortable and closed the door. 

Ryuji leaned more on his side, immediately closing in to Akira as the latter sat down. Akira had been expecting him to want to sit closer to Ann, someone he knew for a longer time, and a beautiful girl. Or at least, to stay where he was, which was a perfectly in the middle spot. He didn’t. Akira didn’t know why he noticed it.

Morgana then sighed at their collective stupidness, saying he needed someone to actually drive him. 

When Akira went for the drive seat, the blond followed, choosing to sit closely by his side.

When Makoto started driving them, he followed Akira to the backseat once more. 

Akira didn’t know what to think. He didn’t think he should even be thinking something of this. They were always pretty close. He just wasn’t paying attention before. That didn’t mean anything. He was being self conceited, and silly. 

The scene changed.

They got on the train, a day after going to Madarame’s exhibition for the first time. Ryuji had insisted on him and Ann to sit down on the only available seats. He didn’t really think about it at the moment, but when he came home at night, he remembered Ryuji had a bad leg. He knew it pained him. Akira felt weird. He didn’t know why. Was he happy? Embarrassed maybe? He felt bad for forgetting his friend’s condition. At the same time, he felt something he couldn’t quite put into words at being the recipient of that kind of chivalry. It was so confusing. He remembered his friend's bright smile, and something twinged in his heart.

He didn’t want to look closer at the feeling starting to bloom in his chest.

The memory progressed, but it showed just tids and bits of Akira throughout the years. There seemed to be some brief flashes of him before going to Tokyo, very hazily, mostly mere thoughts.

Sometimes, he'd look at himself in his boxers, and wish they were... less shapeless? A bit more tight maybe? Not the same old boring colours the male section had? It wasn't something he could exactly put his finger on, but he felt restless. It bothered him how... rough he looked? 

He liked the softer looks. He wondered how he'd look like wearing tights. At least some leggings. Leggings and some oversized and soft hoodie, and his boots. His slacks were usually as tight as he could get away with, but he didn't like how it made his legs look. He had pretty long legs, and they looked good, but his clothes didn’t help showing it. He hated it. He didn't like how everyone could see his scrawny figure and flat chest. He didn't think he wanted to have something there, but at the same time he didn't feel comfortable most of the time. He’d prefer wearing something that didn’t make it that obvious that he was male, sometimes. He felt something crawling under his skin some days, when he looked at the mirror and found himself looking so much like a boy. He wondered if he was imagining things. There were good days, and bad days.  
  
How he shouldn't wear this or that. How he should style his hair. How he shouldn't like his plush toys. ‘Why would a teenager boy put those up?’ His mother would chide him. ‘Boys don't care for cuteness, except for the cuteness of some girl,’ his father said. ‘No, not these clothes’.

Coming to Tokyo had been a blessing of sorts.

The memory suddenly came into focus, and they were watching their friend running around the familiar scenery of Tokyo, carrying around a very talkative tuxedo cat. 

Morgana hadn't cared for any of that. The cat, at a time he had never been outside of the metaverse, and, thus, out of his cartoonish and gender undefined cat self, had developed his crush on Ann. Had decided his own gender based on a hunch, that how he felt for Ann and about himself meant he was male.  
  
Akira figured mankind's hope wouldn't mind. Morgana urged him to learn how to charm people out of a maid, for God's sake. And Akira didn’t tell him how he thought the dresses looked nice, and how he wondered how it would feel like to put one of those. Surely the frills and the swishing skirt would be interesting to feel? 

But he was too tall for one of those, he thought. His too short hair wouldn’t look good combined with all the laces and ribbons. He wasn’t sure if he’d dare to try on a dress ever in his life. He just wondered sometimes. And something aching in his chest would be soothed by Morgana’s suggestion that he learned how to charm people out of a cute girl in a dress. As if they weren’t that different, for the cat.

He had said Akira should take a page from Carmen's book about how to be beautiful and enchanting, and who the hell would suggest a woman as a role model for charming people as a boy? People suggested Don Juan for boys. Zorro even. Because how emulating a maid's cute routine, or a bold femme fatale, should help a boy?  
  
But Morgana hadn't even blinked at that. He’d look at cute stuffed animals and asked Akira if he didn’t want one, casually, as if high schooler boys normally wanted a plushie of a cute snowman with a tiny purple hat. 

Akira wanted it so badly. 

The rigged machine made it a matter of luck more than of skill, and he couldn’t even pretend he was doing it for the challenge. If he was, he could just keep playing and distribute the prizes to someone else. But no, Akira loved the softness and cuteness of the plushies, and he collected them, basking on the freedom of being away from home, away from the disapproving words of his mother about him being too girlish. He got giddy at having a new one, softer and cuter than the ones they had, or even awkward but cute, he loved them all. He unashamedly put them on display, happy with Mona’s encouragement. 

The cat didn’t seem to care much about gender roles.

Morgana suggested that Akira paid attention to how everyone charming behaved, because for him there was no difference, and Akira felt free. He'd try the Casanova's self conceited charm, and Carmen's alluring femme fatale charm, and all of it would fit nicely for Joker. 

Sometimes, he'd look at Arsene's gentlemanly coat, his bold red boots, his insanely high heels, and feel proud. When he was wearing that mask, and he didn’t have to supress all of his cheeky answers, all of the protests on the tip of his tongue, his rebellion shone the brightest, and he spat on every expectation society could have on him. He allowed himself to actually feel proud, for that small moment, for being who he was, even if that meant everyone else would see him as an offense, something society and its stupid order could never accept.  
  
It was just harder when he was living his life as a student, and everyone was threatening him into silence because of his record. He wanted to talk back, and to be himself so badly it hurt to keep it in. 

He didn't mind being referred to as a boy. He didn't go out of his way to talk like a girl should. For some reason, that didn't bother him. He wondered why other things did. Wondered if he was just imagining things. Wondered if the tight feeling in his chest somedays, when he looked at his own reflection and everything felt out of place, was normal. Wondered why the first Persona he got, without even having to negotiate with it, was a small female fairy. Wondered about Arsene's clothes, and if that was really how he felt deep in his heart. If he himself was also something like that, androgynous. Arsene could pull off the androgynous look even being tall as he was, and Akira, 175 cm tall, felt this bit reassured, after a lifetime slouching to make himself look shorter.  
  
Sometimes, though, he'd remember a few stray words, and he’d wonder what his friends would think, if he told them how he felt.

Ann just hadn’t known better, but it stuck with him. They had never questioned what gender Morgana was, and when Ann brought it up a ‘so Morgana… are you a boy or a girl?’, he had a faint realisation of ‘Oh. So you have to be either a boy or a girl…’ Was it just another way in which he wasn’t normal? He didn’t tell them. Never worked up the courage to. He didn’t know what he could say to explain something he himself didn’t understand that well.

He remembered Morgana's confidence when saying he was a boy, and how everyone accepted without any further discussion, without being offered any sort of proof. Despite ‘Morgana’ being a girl’s name. He'd wish he could be seen as he really was. He wondered if the difference was in how he looked. But who was he, really?  
  
He wondered.  
  
His feelings about himself were a right mess, and he was drowning in it. 

So he did what he always does when he doesn’t know what to do with a feeling, and hid it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was quite surprised seeing how much of a diva they made of Akira's persona. Arsene's design is kinda ambiguous and I love it. Those heels, man, higher than Carmen’s. Akira isn't the most macho character either, to which there's a lot of examples on that, so I won't start it *laughs* OK JUST ONE SMALL THING: in the manga called Mementos Mission, Akira (ok, Ren) actually, without anyone prompting him, out of his own free will, honest to God, crossdress. Akechi laughs at him, and Akira doesn’t even blink, he just asks if Akechis thinks the house they’re in front of is funny, like he doesn’t even CONSIDER the fact that Akechi is laughing at him for dressing like a woman. Akira went all out with it too, full wig, makeup, stockings, skirt. BUT with a man’s necktie and coat. I LOVE how he comes up with the disguise all for himself, instead of getting all ‘uuh it was my only choice, someone told me to, Ann helped me with the makeup cuz I’m too straight to know it, uuuh I’m a boy I’m allergic to it’. He’s like “Ohh a disguise? Awesome! Let me try my new lipstick!” And it’s not treated as a gag, or joke at all. He looks confident and really comfortable in being able to wear that outfit.  
> Since it’s the manga, and I’m following the game storyline, that won’t be something that happened to him in my fic, unfortunately. But it will add to Akira’s personality, and gender issues. I just really wanted to share this fact with you all *laughs*. 
> 
> The cafeteria prices are based on my own experience when I was in Tokyo (it was an university’s cafeteria, so it’s just an estimate). Food is cheaper in the cafeterias, but Tokyo is crazily expensive in my opinion. Around those good areas (apparently Yogen-Jaya is considered to be a nice neighbourhood) one of the cheapest dinners you can get is plain shoyu ramen for 900 yen (roughly 9 dollars, you can just take off two zeros, to make the math simpler). Convenience store bentos aren’t that cheap also, and they taste like a chewing on a wet cardboard box :) . You can survive on onigiri, though. It should be around 120 yen at the convenience store, and 90 yen at the supermarket. It’s not a real meal though. You’d have to eat a couple of them to fill you. Or resign yourself to eating a bun, like Akira does at lunch. Akira’s struggle is real *laughs*
> 
> About Joker, I like to think he, the embodiment of Akira’s rebellion, would be more openly indignant in his thoughts about how he gets treated by everyone. Like, not resenting it, but fervently questioning why people treat him that way.  
> (By the way, I totally made up the explanation about why you have to pay to have your personas back. I was thinking of pretending I was playing the game on safe mode, in which apparently you don’t have to pay. But I thought a bit more, and came up with this theory, and decided to go with it)
> 
> Anyway, I feel like people don’t appreciate Ryuji enough sometimes.I mean, it gets quite evident at the end of Shido’s palace. I feel like he and Akira are similar in this point: both aren’t acknowledged for what they contribute because they never bring attention to it. That was kinda why I put those two scenes together: Akira quietly doing things for them in the velvet room, and Ryuji quietly doing everything he could to look after Akira, because he might have been kinda worried that his friend could be in a potentially dangerous situation. Because those are two instances in which they help but literally no one appreciates it? I guess if anyone would've seen how caring Ryuji was, that'd be Akira. Also, after I noticed the food problem, I noticed how Ryuji is always dead set on making Akira eat, and how he keeps inviting him for food (not deducting any money for it), giving him things and money, but, like, so subtly I myself had only noticed really later on? And it’s quite clear Ryuji does not have that much money, but he keeps helping him out. Literally, when he gives the model gun to Joker, he comments on how he spent all his allowance on it. So, 5000 yen isn’t small money for him, not enough for him not to really care about the change. I like to think Ryuji is smart in his own way, because everyone’s smart in some way, and it’s sad how everyone dismisses him just because he doesn't do well in school. 
> 
> SORRY FOR THE RAMBLE I HAVE LOTS OF FEELINGS AND NO ONE TO TALK ABOUT IT. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, AND PLEASE tell me if you all would prefer shorter chapters for easier reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so, so much for the kudos and comments. You guys inspire me so much, there's so many interesting things you write about! It makes much easier to keep updating on the scheduled day, since I get pumped to write more and edit faster *laughs* 
> 
> About the chapter: it gets shippy.

Shadow Akira didn’t look up, watching boredly his own memories. He knew everything about them anyway. He had taken a look at himself and ripped off the mask on his heart. He knew about that. He even knew he couldn’t be fixed, and he wasn’t honestly sure if he wanted to. He just wanted to be himself, and be free. 

“Oh.” Makoto’s eyes lit up in understanding. “This is about him hiding his sexuality and gender identity. That’s why the shadow said he wasn’t born to guard a memory, he was just a side Akira didn’t want to show to anyone.” Her voice got a bit quieter, and her expression fell. “That’s why he said he might not ever be able to get out. And why he was so sure we couldn’t talk him out of his problem. He knows he is what he is, and that he can’t change that.”

Ryuji opened his mouth to say something, but Akira held a hand up and stopped him.

“Let me finish. I’ll explain everything I can, show what I have here, and then we can deal with whatever fallout that comes next.”

“Akira, I-”

“Please. Just let me finish.” He didn’t look at the blond. “There’s way too much junk in here anyway. I don’t even know where to start...” He clutched his head, closing his eyes and trying to focus. But there was no use, his head was a mess, and he felt lost. “Maybe this was a mistake.” He sighed, clasping his hands in front of him. “I don’t even know anymore. I shouldn’t be here…”

Morgana shyly spoke up. 

“Just say what’s on your mind, whenever it comes to you, okay? We will listen and we will believe in you.”

“Don’t overthink it.” Futaba suggested. “Just say whatever comes to your mind. It’s gonna be fine.”

He took a very shaky breath, frowning, lips pursued as he tried to make himself say what he wanted. It was such an absurd, telling about his own feelings. But he wanted to, he was bursting at the seams with them, there was too much in that room for him alone to deal with. 

His feelings were all over the place, the memories were just a mass of too much information, too many things happening to him at once, and he couldn’t breath. 

His lungs were burning, and he couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears.

“There’s… too many things here,” he forced through the panic rising in his chest. “I keep getting newer memories, and feelings, but I can’t deal with it at all.”

“This is a very confusing room.” Makoto nodded. “His thoughts were more well organized in the previous rooms.”

“Probably because there’s too many memories and feelings linked to this one issue.” Morgana said, tail swishing anxiously. “He said before some memories go way back, so he must be locked up here for a long time. That’s why he amassed so many things in one place.”

“Calm down, okay? Breathe.” Haru calmly said. “We will ask you questions and talk you through it. We totally understand. There’s way too many memories here than most of the rooms, it must be driving you crazy trying to deal with all of it alone. It will be fine, okay?" She said it evenly, patiently, trying not to overwhelm him. "It should help you organize your thoughts if you have a topic to work with, and if you can unload your memories with some prompting. 

He hesitantly nodded, arms firmly locked around his knees. 

“Now, tell us about you.” Haru gently prompted. “When did you find out you weren’t straight?”

“Back in middle school, I think? The memory is gone, but I know it’s been a little while. I was fourteen I guess? There have been handsome boys even in the countryside. And I have a lifetime of my mother in my case about me being too girlish.”

Yusuke piped up.

“You showed us how you started developing feelings for your best friend. When did you finally realise what that was?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Do you have some memories about it?” Futaba asked.

“Lots.” He huffed a laugh, a little bitter, but amused. He waved his hand, and a memory started for them.

  
  


Ryuji had said Akira was his best friend. It was amazing, having a best friend, Akira mustered. Summer came around, and coloured his memories with something tender and fleeting, capable of making him feel nostalgic about something he lived a day before. Ryuji came over and they spent lazy afternoons playing games in the too hot attic. It was almost like back home, but entirely different. 

Akira hadn’t had this motivation, back then, to be the best in everything, he hadn’t that many people to hang out with even before his conviction. So he had spent days reading manga, and playing video games, occasionally. It had been… okay. It felt wrong saying he had fun back then.

Because now, oh, how much fun he was having. 

It was the best thing in life laughing with the blond while playing the old games he had been able to afford. Mona kept cheering them on at boss’ battles, and the blond kept yelling at the screen, and it was lively, and good, safe. His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he looked to the side and his best friend had that bright smile in his face. Akira had said all of his terrible puns and cheeky answers, and Ryuji had laughed at them, and poked fun at him too, and Akira’s heart hurt a bit. He was happy. 

It was a bit terrifying. 

They drank cold carbonated drinks, and went to the arcade. Akira made him curry, and almost killed him with spice. It was the worst idea ever, what with that heat wave, but Akira let himself be young and stupid, because it was so easy to do it with Ryuji. It was this easier interacting with someone he knew would tell him the truth. 

Akira would listen to his small, breathless laugh, and wonder how someone so loud could have a laugh so quiet and adorable. 

The scene changed. Akira was sleeping on his makeshift bed at Leblanc.

A text in the middle of the night. Ryuji asked him out. To see a movie, but asked him out all the same, and Akira wondered how he’d feel if that wasn’t just hanging out with his friend. He didn’t wonder too long, because he had been having such a blast, and he didn’t want to turn and look at the feeling in his chest. 

Morgana took a peek at his screen. 

“Ooh, movies? Sounds fun! You should go.” 

Akira gave a small smile, wondering if he didn’t understand those two as well as he thought he did. Then, decided he was overthinking things, and forgot about it. He was happy, for a change, and he was looking forward to tomorrow. He didn’t have to look too close at the strange little feeling in his heart, not yet. 

It felt a bit like he was dreaming some days, and he wanted to make that dream last.

They were training again. Akira looked up for a moment, and he was staring at his best friend's profile, his strong figure against a very blue sky. It was hot, and the blond was looking away, talking about something, but Akira was staring at his throat, the way his Adam’s apple carved a beautiful curve in his neck. There was sweat dripping down his throat, and the short hair left his nape vulnerable and open to Akira's staring. His lips were tingling, and he had a sudden impulse of tasting that small curve of his best friend's neck, kissing his prominent Adam’s apple. 

He quickly buried the feeling, panic gripping his insides. It meant nothing. Even if he might have noticed, more than just a few times, his best friend's strong arms, and how narrow his hips were, it didn't have to mean anything. So what if Ryuji had impressive abs, lean and defined, and Akira might have thought once or twice about it? He could notice his friend's attractiveness without it meaning anything. It was normal, nothing to freak out about. 

He pushed himself harder on the training that day, pointedly not thinking about that small feeling in his chest. If he wished hard enough, maybe it would go away entirely. 

There was another flash, and they were seeing another day. The same spot on school, the same sportswear. Ryuji was talking to his former teammates. 

“Who’re you living your life for? Your parents?Teacher? Society?”

Akira kept his face carefully neutral, and wondered, himself, for whom he was keeping so many secrets. Wondered why he couldn’t tell his friends about his sexuality, and so many other things he couldn’t even explain that well. He wondered why he could face it within himself, but he couldn’t put it into words. Wondered why facing himself wasn’t as scary as trusting other people with his vulnerabilities. 

“Maybe you should stop living for them and just tryin’ living for yourself.”

Was it enough, facing himself? He had ripped off his mask for that boy, but he couldn’t trust him? Akira knew some things took time, though, and, out of all of that, he kept one question to his life: what living for himself would mean? He wanted to know. He wanted to be better, and to live a better life. It was weird how he realised lots of things when he was with his best friend. It was a good thing. He wanted to keep that in his life. 

All tension disappeared when they were alone again, and the blond was saying something funny. They were laughing again. Akira noticed how much he laughed when he was with his best friend. 

The scene changed, even if the scenery was the same. Ryuji’s favourite place at school for training. He and Akira were together, and the blond just opened up his mouth to say something.

“I guess being free is what I feel when I’m talking to you.”

He said, the memory crystal clear, like something Akira kept with so much care it hadn’t faded. His heart had felt like it was beating in his throat, and he didn’t know what to do. There was something fierce in his chest, something that felt like hope, and fear, so he tipped the scale and decided it was fear. 

“Can you explain that?” he asked, cautiously, because it just couldn’t be that his best friend also felt something different about them.

“Uuuh, I don’t know how else to explain. I just feel… free.”

“I really don’t understand.” He wished he did. He wondered if that was what he was feeling in his own chest. Was that it? That unabashed wild thing, larger than words, like a breath of fresh air and dreams. Was it freedom? It felt like it. It could be.

“What, are we stuck on repeat or something?” And his best friend was laughing again, messing with his own hair, embarrassed.

Akira laughed too, looking down, feeling a bit shy as well. He wondered why. There was this bit of tension in the air he couldn’t quite explain, but it made him nervous. Ryuji seemed uncharacteristically timid too, and things got a bit awkward for a moment. The blond eventually took a deep breath and broke the silence with a huge smile and a bright voice.

“Oooh, we should get ramen on the way home!”

Shadow Akira let the memory end there, eyes distant as he considered his next words. He always considered what he said. Second guessing. Anxious. Even when he was just trying to say the truth, sometimes it was so hard. He knew how impossible it was to make people understand things with words. He knew how easily things crumbled down. He took a deep breath, opening his mouth only when he thought he had something acceptable to say.

“Deep down, I knew what that was, but I didn’t dare even think about it. I didn’t put a name on it even in my head, even if it was painfully obvious. I pretended I didn’t know, and, just like that, I wasn’t seeing it. I could enjoy my days with all of my friends, and don’t start wishing for things I wouldn’t have.” He huffed at that. 

“But.” He sighed. “One day, that feeling caught me off guard, and it was just like turning around and going ‘oh’.” He shrugged, a half smile on his lips, something melancholic in his eyes. He hesitated before continuing. “It’s… well, it’s a good memory, in a sense. It’s actually one of the best I should have here.” 

“I still feel a little guilty for having this one.” He looked down, voice a bit smaller. “I know there’s shadows here who would… they would find so much comfort seeing this. But it ended up locked with me.” He paused for a moment, trying to find the next thing to say. It was so very difficult putting everything he had bottled up there in order. He was glad they weren’t interrupting him, because he could barely keep track of what he was saying, he wouldn’t be able to engage in any debate, or assimilate any new information before spitting out what he had blocking his throat. 

He took a deep breath, and tried to organize his thoughts. 

“This happened when things were… things weren’t going very well,” he eventually said, like he wasn’t entirely sure if his situation could be considered bad, and he didn’t want to be told he was overplaying it. “I had a bit of trouble and… And in the middle of all of it, I felt something terrifying, but so gentle. I know it was an important moment for me to realise my feelings, but… I feel like there are shadows here who need that gentleness more than me. I don’t know why I have this memory in their stead. Maybe because these cells weren’t made to be good to us. We’re not meant to be happy.” He shook his head, but didn’t seem to think that was an issue. He looked up at the ceiling, staring at it like he had done so many times before. “Well, you’ll see.”

The very first thing they knew about the Akira in the memory was that everything hurt. He was in a bathroom Futaba recognized as the one in her house. He was due to another dose of painkillers, but he couldn’t find them, and he was supposed to head over to Leblanc soon. His hands were gripping the sides of the sink. He looked up, and there was a collective gasp across the room.

Akira was looking at the mirror, and his face was a mess. A painful looking bruise was high in his cheekbone, the mottled blood stuck under the sickly pale skin. There was another one on his jaw, and a cut on the bridge of his nose. Another on his temple. Another just over his jawbone, on both sides. His lower lip was bleeding. His eyes were red rimmed from crying, and there were bags under them. They were vaguely aware of other wounds, of more pain, but Akira wasn’t paying attention to it, so they couldn’t know for certain what they were. 

He looked exhausted, mind still reeling from his interrogation, and it was hard to watch him steel himself and prepare himself to start applying makeup on his fresh bruises. 

Ann felt her stomach drop to her feet, her heart very small in her chest, for having let that pass. She had noticed he seemed to be wearing some makeup, but she honestly assumed he was just embarrassed about the bags under his eyes, and not… not this. 

His eyes were dead. Grey irises staring up hollowly. He didn't even know anymore why he was trying so hard. He felt empty, like something in himself had been broken beyond repair, but he was forced to keep going, to keep using his body, and his own heart, even if they were all black and blue. 

There was a cut next to his mouth, and he tried covering it first. It stung, and he had to redo it when blood began to flow over the liquid foundation. He methodically dried it up, holding a paper tissue over it to stop the bleeding. He knew it was such an stupid idea, but he wasn’t showing this to the team. 

Besides, he had antibiotics, so even if his wounds ended up infected a little, it would be fine. Those things healed. He couldn’t take back what his friends thought of him, or how they would feel if they saw how their plan wasn’t so good as they had been expecting. He wouldn't open up. Because, at this point, he was scared that if he started crying, he wouldn't be able to stop anymore.

So he kept going, blindly, because there would be nothing left of him if he stopped, if he ever acknowledged how broken he was. 

When he tried to apply the foundation to his cheek, he realised his skin was too dry, and it was peeling off at some points, in very small pieces, like dust. Probably being dehydrated had something to do with it. The bits of skin with foundation made it painfully obvious he was wearing makeup. He grimaced, panicking inside. He had to do something about it, but he hadn’t thought of asking for an exfoliating soap or anything…

He looked down at the sink, grabbing a gauze and wetting it slightly. He rubbed his face with it, hissing at the pain. He didn’t have time for that, so he pressed on. The gauze was pinkish with blood when he finished, but his skin was smooth enough to receive the foundation. He took up the opportunity to wet the gauze with more cold water, pressing it over his closed eyes for a moment, to counter the swelling, and the redness, telltales of his crying. 

It was killing them to watch how far he had gone for them, how much he endured alone simply because that was just the way his life has always been. He was obviously used to this, used to being just a tool, used to completely disregarding his well being as something secondary, less important. He treated pain as just a weakness, a nuisance, something superfluous he could ignore because what else could it be? What did it really matter, in the great scheme of things, how he felt? 

And their hearts were shattering, at his pain, at knowing they had failed him over and over. He had always offered his gentle consideration of looking close, of asking them how they were. He had seen Ann crying at the train station and followed her, even when she had done nothing to warrant such kindness. He hadn’t abandoned her when she had lied and said she was fine, the way they all did every time he lied to them and reassured them he was fine. They just assumed he was tougher, that he was somehow able to be permanently fine, no matter what. And how did they ever believe in it? Obviously no one could be fine every single day of their lives. 

And Makoto couldn’t stop herself from wondering if he thought she knew. She was Sae’s sister, no amount of makeup would ever fool her if she had just bothered to ask her sister how her friend was doing when he was being interrogated. She couldn’t even blame him if he thought she didn’t care, because, honestly? Not bothering to ask, and, asking but not caring if he had been hurt were just two sides of the very same coin. She would have to talk to him about that, she had to be better, because, right now, she felt like he was a better friend than she deserved.

Memory Akira didn’t stop, and he didn’t think badly of them for never looking past his kind lies. He kept working diligently, primer followed by foundation, followed by corrective under his eyes and over the worst of the bruising. Carefully blending the colour all the way down to his neck. It was pure agony having to press down on the bruises, but he had to make the product stick, and he had to apply some pressure. His hands were shaking when he finished applying the foundation to a very painful bruise on his cheekbone. The swelling had gone down with the anti inflammatories he took, but it still hurt when he touched the mottled blood under the skin.

He breathed, in, and out, a bit too fast because of the sheer agony, but he clenched his teeth and kept going. It was hard trying to find that equilibrium between perfectly covering his bruises and not applying too much product so anyone would immediately notice what was going on.

He applied a teensy bit of blush to make himself look a little less like death had swarmed over, trying to get close to his natural skin tone. 

His skin slowly started to look better, the illusion of well being constructed shade by shade. The bags under his eyes seemed smaller when there wasn't any purplish tone over them. He moisturized his lips, just so they would stop cracking over old cracks, and they'd stop bleeding soon. 

His face was looking really better, his pretty features finally standing out more than his wounds. His skin looked smooth, like he had had a good night's sleep. His lips were a bit too white, but he supposed he shouldn’t overdo it this time.

He had this small feeling in his chest that he’d like to do that in another opportunity. To try out new combinations. 

He pretended he didn't feel a rush at applying the makeup and seeing his skin get that slight shimmer, that even colouring and texture. Lovely as he had seen lots of girls look. He put into use all the techniques he had seen in the countless videos he had idly watched, and he was happy with his final result. He put into use those small moments he had spent at drugstores, sneakily trying on foundation’s tones on his wrist, and pretending one day he would have the courage to buy one. When Sojiro asked what product he should buy, Akira knew exactly the number of his skin shade, because he had been dreaming of this, even if there was much less blood and pain in his dreams. But it was something, right? He couldn't help but wonder how was that, when he was lying that hard, he was the closest to revealing his true self? 

He wished he could feel happy about himself everyday.

With that melancholic longing in his heart, he headed out of the bathroom, out of the house, ready to pretend he was fine to every one of them. Ready to be whoever they needed him to be this time.

Sojiro opened the door to Leblanc, and he followed, closing it behind him. He barely had the time to take in all of his team, the familiar faces, when there’s a blur of someone running to him. Time seemed to slow down, and he was suddenly looking at Ryuji, his very bright hair and smile. it was a bit like looking directly at the sun. His best friend pulled him close by the shoulders, a firm squeeze on his arm. 

He froze. The arm around his shoulder was reassuring in its tight grip, the contact was deliberately gentle, friendly. He realised, distantly, they were hugging, and it didn’t entirely feel like that was something that was happening to him. It was similar to being beaten up and drugged. That weird feeling of being so overwhelmed with something, he felt like he wasn’t living that moment, but seeing it through the eyes of a third person. All of his senses were in overload, and he couldn’t deal with it. But. It was so nice.

He feels… safe, and warm all over. He spent so many hours trying to dull his senses, clenching his teeth and willing away his thirst, fear and pain, yet now he wanted all of his senses back. He wanted to feel every second of it, the way every fingertip closing in his arm felt like when it was pressing down on his skin. 

He turned to look, and a relieved, too bright smile was aimed directly at him, fondness all over. It was such a stark difference from the whole day before, it felt a little like stepping into a completely different and insane reality, in which touch could be soothing, and in which someone would smile at him. In which he could be this close to his best friend, and let him hug him like that, shaking his battered up frame.

It hurt, honestly, badly, and he had to stay still through it so he wouldn’t hiss in pain at how the movement made his wounds jostle. He still felt weak, even after a whole day to settle after coming down from the drugs, because painkillers weren’t that good for his upset stomach either, and he couldn’t eat well. His shoulder had a big bruise from being thrown on the floor over and over, kicked too, and Ryuji had been pressing down on it, which was quite painful. He had to suppress a pained moan, close his mouth shut so he wouldn’t cry out. But it was wonderful anyway, he was touch starved and he thought it was a fair trade, this bit of pain for that warm feeling in his chest. For seeing Ryuji smile at him the way he was doing. 

He wanted to stay like that forever. 

Oh.

The arm around his shoulders let go, because it was of course just a friendly hug. He smiled politely at the rest of the thieves, while the suffocating feeling in his chest screamed loud, shrieked at him and demanded to be recognized. He couldn’t stop himself from looking. He couldn’t stop himself from finally admitting to himself what was that, that wild thing in his chest, that piece of hope and raw strength, that overwhelming sense of trust and safety. That undefined thing, that made it so much easier to be the best version of himself. That overwhelming urge to just kiss a too bright smile out of his best friend’s face.

_Oh. I love him._

The thought was soft, almost faint, like he couldn’t even bear thinking about it too loudly. Terrified. 

The scene gently faded away, and all that was left was Akira’s shadow, a longing a bit too raw, and yet so tender, in his serious expression. His gaze was very far away as he got up, putting his hands in his pockets, a sigh escaping his lips. Like someone who had been defeated, but had accepted it with dignity. 

"You were the first to hug me in a very long time,” he eventually confessed, and it was a vulnerable thing to say, but he said it softly, almost casually. Like it was something happening to someone else. “When I came back, you practically tackled me, rushing in first, and pulled me into a hug as soon as you could.” His lips curved slightly in a small smile, and he looked at the floor. “Just then it hit me how long it had been since someone had hugged me. And how... it felt shocking, after more than a day of being kicked and screamed at and being on the receiving end of Sae's, frankly awful, table slamming and accusations." He huffed a bitter laugh at that. 

A moment passed, and he finally looked up, grey eyes finally staring into his best friend’s face. Knowing how scared he was of showing all of that, it was awfully brave of him, but, then again, Ryuji had always known Akira was very brave when he was cornered. When there was no other choice, he didn’t hold back at all.

"For a moment there, I wondered what you’d say if you knew how badly I was hurt.” His eyes never looked away from the blond, but his voice was a bit hushed. “I wondered what you’d say if you knew how much I was lying through my teeth when I said I was fine. Would you be angry? Would you hug me again?” He frowned then, looking away. 

“I thought, for a second, I could tell you the truth if you hugged me again. But, then again, if you knew… Would you have finally realised how much I lie all the time? Or had you already figured out my bullshit?” He looked up again, considering. “I think you might have noticed something wasn't okay with me, because from that day on you glued yourself to my side. You sat with me when I came back, and you kept doing that every other chance you got. When we got to Shido's, you stuck close to me when we were investigating, and when we first looked at the drowning city." 

Ryuji shook his head.

"Dude, I know how it looks like when someone's hiding a bad leg, y'know? ” He smiled at his best friend, holding in what he wanted to say. That he was sticking close because he was worried about him falling down and breaking something. At the Palace, he was worried sick he'd fall to his death or something. He still didn’t know how they all agreed on going in so soon, but there they were, and he’d be damned if he let Akira fall face first just because he was too stubborn to tell anyone his leg was bothering him. 

He wanted to tell him how much his hug had been entirely selfish, because Ryuji needed the physical assurance that Akira was alive, because he frankly wouldn’t be able to take it if he wasn’t. 

But he spent all year talking his best friend’s ear off, and now it was his turn to listen. 

“I’ll let you finish what you have to say, but, just let me say one thing: if I knew that was what you wanted, I’d have hugged you every second I could, ok?”

There was something fragile in Akira’s expression, that was quite hard to place. Something like distant regret, but also a vulnerable longing, mixed up with a very tender fear. Maybe wondering what Ryuji meant with that. Maybe not really knowing what to do with that piece of information. Wondering how his life would have been if he had given in that night, and spilled his secrets to his best friend.

But Akira had a death grip on his secrets, on his mask, and it wasn’t that easy letting things go. He had been hurt too much to open up like that, to trust people like that. To talk about what made him vulnerable. To bare his weaknesses and hope he wouldn’t be struck right where it hurt.

He fell silent again, and this time Ryuji had the courage to ask him a question.

“It’s not an accusation, you should tell people when you feel ready, but, lemme ask: why didn’t we make you comfortable enough to share with us that you liked dudes?”

Akira’s shadow sighed at that, sitting down again, idly staring at the floor.

“It's not like…” He took a deep breath. “I am interested in girls, I did look at Ann, and lots of other girls, all those times when I had the chance, even if it was mostly because I was curious. I am curious, and I notice other people's bodies. It's just…” He sighed again, one hand nervously rubbing his nape. 

“I liked what we had, and it was awesome having a best friend and hanging out and doing all those things stupid teenager boys did.” He took a deep breath. “But... you did make me feel pressured into... performing in a more masculine way? Because I wanted to stay your best friend, and to be that place you said you belonged.” He didn’t look up, confessing his shortcomings while staring at the opposite wall.

“And... I began to wonder if you might be right, you know? I mean... I might not be normal and it'd be better if I was. It made me ashamed of who I was. I wasn't sure if that was something I could change, but I'm good at pretending, and I was confident you'd never know I felt curious about men too.”

He stopped again, choosing his next words. He didn’t look at Ryuji, determined to not let whatever he saw in his face interfere with what he wanted to say. 

“It was just something there, and I would notice how…” he shrugged, and there was a small blush high on his cheeks. He kept going. “I'd notice your arms, and how stronger than me you were, but I wasn't jealous of that. You would walk around in ridiculously tight tank tops, and your back looked solid and how would it be to touch it? I never had defined abs as you do, and I wanted to touch.” He pointedly didn’t look at any of them, but he said his piece fiercely, like someone who was done keeping anything in. “I wondered how it would feel to be hugged by you, properly, for a long time, if possible. You’d smile sometimes, and give this airy laugh, too soft for someone as loud as you, and I’d wanted to kiss you. I never did. But that was just because I had time to learn self control, to get used to forcing myself not to imagine what life would be if…”

If it had been acceptable to fall in love with your best friend, even if he was a boy. If he hadn't been scared to admit to anyone who he was, and that that person wasn't entirely masculine nor entirely feminine, and liked boys and girls alike. 

If maybe his best friend stopped defending him, and being the most accepting of his snarky sense of humour, of his most unfiltered answers. But his best friend always wanted to be by his side, and he would be gentler than he was with everyone else. He was all rough around the edges, but for all he bickered with Ann, Morgana, and Futaba, and how much he complained about Makoto's uptightness, about Yusuke's oddness, and how he would tease Haru's about her economic power, he was gentle with Akira all the time. With Akira he wouldn't say he was odd, nor that he was spoiling everyone's fun, even when he was being odd and uptight sometimes. He'd shake his head and huff in amused fondness, and let it pass. And Akira wondered if it was because he noticed far more than he let everyone know, and he somehow felt that Akira was a boy a bit too closer to breaking than most. 

Even when everyone was doubting the Phantoms, he would be the first one to talk back, and to be so sure and so defensive of what they had, and Akira ached with the exact same sentiment, despite everything. He knew they had to rethink what they were doing, he knew they had to be overcautious. But he was risking everything to make it real, and all around people were doubting it. Even their fellow thieves, they all talked about how they could be wrong, and how maybe they were doing a bad thing. 

He was betting his own life on it, his heart aching with the certainty of his purpose, and it was so terrifying to doubt that. He had wished for them to be strong for him, just this once, and reassure him he had risked family and future, and every fucking thing he had, for something worthy. For all he honestly thought society needed to do things for itself and all of that, there was no way anyone else would be able to defy reality itself and go shoot a fake God in the face before he doomed humanity. And it would be nice if someone maybe acknowledged that he was doing something good. It would be nice if they would just stop criticizing what they did, when he was trying so hard. When it was the very last thing left for him. 

But his best friend would try to keep positive, and for Akira's overthinking nature it meant everything. It meant the world when he didn't have to be the only one strong, the only one not crumbling down, not scared and waiting to be reassured. 

It was a bit too much to say that to his face, so Akira looked down and made eye contact with Mona. The cat's expression softened.

“He was the first to accept me, when I was sure there was no place left for me. He knew about the rumours but he still offered to walk together to school on my first day. He... he was unshakable in his sense of good, so much he told me to run while I could, and leave him to die alone, just because it wasn't right to let someone else die just because he had gotten the short stick on that day.”

The cat came closer, jumping onto his lap, and he let it, smiling slightly, knowing it was a reassurance. 

“On that day, he showed to me he was willing to help a complete stranger because it was the right thing to do, exactly when I was doubting myself the most for having done exactly the same thing and lost everything I had.” 

He sounded choked up then, and he firmly looked away, his lips forming a tense line. 

“I think I only had it in me to honestly answer Arsene that no, my decision back then wasn't a mistake, because I had just been offered the same courtesy, and it meant so damn much. When I saw him being held down, I saw myself back then, being dragged away by the police, and then I wished so badly to not be like that woman, to be able to just do something.” 

It was a little hard not to fall in love with a best friend like that. Even if it took him quite a while to realise it. 

He sneaked a small glance at Ryuji, and his guilt was easy to see. 

“So, no, it's not like you always let me down. You did so much for me I didn't want to risk what I had.” He half smiled, looking away. “Back then, you had been my only friend, and the only person willing to even look at me. I had just been kicked out by my parents, my new guardian treated me like the worst burden on this world, my homeroom teacher said to my face she didn't want to have me in her class, and everyone at school had something cruel to say about me. I couldn't ask for directions or anything like that to anyone because no one wanted to be _seen_ talking to me, and everywhere I went, people wished I would go away.” He looked up, staring at the ceiling. “I was alone in a big city, I didn't know anyone and my guardian wouldn't even save my number to his phone. I felt so lonely, and trapped. A freak in every sense. It didn't really surprise me when Igor told me the velvet room took the shape of one's heart, and mine was a solitary cell.” 

He glanced at their surroundings, seemingly disappointed. That room was a constant reminder that, no matter how much he did, how many tricks he pulled, he’d always end locked up somewhere, in some way.

He sighed, and spoke up again.

“But then I had you, who would talk to me and hang out with me even before I explained to you my circumstances. You would be bad mouthed too, but you would be loud and try to look like you were too cool for it, and just like that I felt like I could do the same.” He shrugged. “I had one contact on my phone, and going to school wasn't so intimidating knowing someone would be there and talk to me. I didn't have anyone at where I was living, and no one at school, and no one at my hometown. I wasn't hoping for anything, not with my rotten luck, but then, somehow, I was gifted with you, someone who was willing to stick with me through hell and back.” 

He fell silent at that, kicking off his leg absentmindedly, his head pillowed on his crossed arms resting on his knee. 

“The only problem was that you were always dead set on talking about girls, and how you wanted a girlfriend, and... I felt guilty for looking at you like that.” He stared at the stone floor, sadly. “For accepting your chocolate on Valentine’s Day and deciding to think of it as Valentine’s chocolate, and not obligation chocolate, because I figured you’d never know what I was thinking anyway. And… it was everything I was ever going to have anyway. You’d never accept my feelings, and I wasn’t entirely sure how things would be between us if I confessed.”

Things were bound to become awkward. Ryuji wouldn’t want to hang out alone with him anymore, probably. He was against doing it sometimes, before Akira told him anything. After being confessed to he’d most likely just run away and never talk to Akira again. And the group would notice, because Ryuji wouldn’t be able to hide his contempt, and things would be awful. Everyone would know, and he’d be either pitied, or outright avoided. Was it really worth it, trying to date his best friend? When he could simply wait for his feelings to go away, and enjoy their awesome friendship? 

“Sometimes it was fun, being an immature brat with you, trying to talk to girls at the beach, to prove a point to Ann, who said we couldn’t charm anyone.” He huffed a laugh at that. It had been cringy, and stupid, but it was fun too. His smile dimmed a bit as he went on. “But then I’d invite you to the amusement park, and you said to my face you wish you could have gone with a girl, and then it was the worst thing ever. But, what hurt the most was that I thought for a moment there, that you were right. I was being weird by inviting you there. I was the one who was in the wrong.” 

It made him suffer, and be ashamed of himself. It made him hide, and lie, and sometimes wish he was born normal, and that killed him inside a little bit. 

Ryuji opened his mouth, but Haru gently stopped him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Ryuji nodded once, clenching his hands in fists, but understanding. It was so very difficult, but Akira had never had anyone to listen, and they owe that to him. He deserved to say everything he had bottled up, without having to worry about answering them first, about their thoughts or feelings. Just being acknowledged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About this part, it should be one or two chapters max about it still, and then we'll be dealing with other issues (I had to cut it in parts, because it ended up really long). Next chapter by the way is ready to go, and I'm working on the others so I can stick to the schedule. 
> 
> About Ryuji's chocolate, story time: I choose the no romance route this time around, because I wanted to spend some time with Sojiro this time (I thought christmas with him and Futaba would be neat). And, anyway, (as far as I know, it's not P5R exclusive, but if you want to be extra sure, look away from this paragraph now), but I was honestly surprised when only Ryuji gave Akira chocolate on Valentine's day. Because, like, ALL of the girls give him friendship/gratitude chocolate (giri choco) on the day after, because it's not proper giving obligation chocolate on valentine's, and all of the chocolates are listed as 'Haru's Giri Chocolate'. But Ryuji's is listed as just 'Ryuji's chocolate'. I just thought it was funny, so I put it there. Like, the way the items are listed are just Akira's take on it, I found it funny how he couldn't classify the chocolate he received. Oh, and, like, I found it really nice of Ryuji, because, even if recently reverse chocolates are getting more popular (reverse as in boys giving out chocolate to their girlfriends - Valentine's is traditionally seen as a girls' holiday, as many of you might know already), it's still unusual to a boy to give choolates on Valentine's. And, for a friend? not really happens. Too much awkwardness. And, like Ryuji just seems like he would fuss about doing something that girlish, but he doesn't (he does give it out in secret, though, so I guess he still felt awkward about it). Even as bros (which is probably what the game intention was), I think it's nice he wanted Akira to have something, since he thought he wouldn't get anything. 
> 
> Oh, and it should be noted that I do use lots of canon elements, but all of it is just my personal take on it, so, don't concern yourselves too much about it, I guess? And, honestly, I had an opinion and headcanons about the characters even before I found out lots of this small trivia, so, it's not like I think they really support my theories, sometimes I just think they're neat *laughs* 
> 
> Thank you again so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for the comments and kudos! 
> 
> I should note that the underage tag is mostly because of this chapter. There’s no underage sex in this fic, though. I put the warning to be extra safe. In this chapter there’s mentions of alcohol, and kissing, and there’s a minor there, so.

There was a lull in the conversation, shadow Akira frowning and staring at some point in his left. He still looked troubled, but his expression was a bit softer. Talking about everything he had been carrying seemed to be genuinely helping. He sighed, eventually, looking up at the group, seemingly waiting for another question, so he could sort out his feelings in a somewhat orderly fashion. It took them a minute before anyone could think about another prompting question.

Haru gently spoke up.

“What did you do then, to deal with your feelings for your friend?” She tilted her head to the side, curious.  


“Well…” He looked away, rubbing his own neck, embarrassed. “Maybe I should just show you a few… er. Examples. Yes.” He was still blushing when the room darkened again, and another memory started.

Akira was working a shift at Crossroads, because Lala was a good boss, always looking out for him, and the payment was always the best he could get at a part time job. He could always get a cue for a mementos request too, so it was always a good idea.

Ann noticed he was still wearing makeup, and she had to bite down on her lip, hard. She knew better than to hope Akira would think being beaten to an inch of his life might warrant him a little break. 

He had been washing a few cups, it was a slow night, and he was bored, distracted. He ended up dumping a glass of dirty water next to Morgana, receiving a shriek from said cat, who decided to take a stroll outside, far away from his clumsy wet hands. Mona usually liked to hear the conversations, and there was not much of it tonight anyway. And he had been sprayed with nasty dishwater, so Akira understood. 

There was just one young couple sitting at the booths, and one older man talking to Lala. Akira eventually ran out of dishes to wash and dry, and he made a signal to Lala that he was taking his break. He went to the door leading to the bathroom, hidden from view by some panels and decorations. He wondered idly about the dim atmosphere, but ignored it in favour of entering the bathroom to check on his makeup. It was in place, and his lip had healed nicely, so he looked even better than he had a week ago. He checked his hair, wiped his glasses and washed his hands. 

While he didn’t want a hellish shift like the ones he usually had at the beef bowl shop, he was having a hard time dealing with his boredom, late as it was. 

Just when he was getting out of the bathroom, Akira was caught off guard by a man, approaching. The man was a bit taller, broad shoulders and short black hair. His shirt looked snug on his bicep, and he was quite handsome. There was a woman next to him, and she smiled encouragingly. She had brown hair that fell till the middle of her back, and was dressed in a cute dress and short boots. He recognized them as the couple sitting in one of the booths. The man spoke up. 

"Hi, this is my girlfriend, and... we were looking at you at the bar, and we were wondering if you'd be interested in something with us?" the man asked tentatively, but with a charming smile on his face, being careful not to crowd him. 

"Oh." He wasn't entirely sure what to do. His eyes showed a brief glimpse of vulnerability, quickly snuffed out by a small smile, coy and just this bit teasing. They startled, realizing they had seen this smile many times before, behind a white and black mask. Suddenly, they could see all the hard work he put into learning how to charm people and how that added up to Joker's flair and confidence when they had needed it. "Something like what?" 

"Just some kissing would be fine for today, if you are up to it,” the woman said, stepping a bit closer, just when her boyfriend rested his forearm on the wall, enclosing him between the two of them. 

"Okay," he breathed out, shrugging like it wasn't a big deal, even if his heart felt like it was trying to climb out of his throat. He looked at them, as he tried to put together the information. How did that work? Who should he kiss first? "How do we-"

He was cut off by lips on his, and a large hand on the back of his neck, angling him just so they could kiss him at the same time. Oh. Oh. He didn't know that was a thing. It was hot, and a bit messy at first, and he couldn't really tell which one of them took his first kiss. There were two pairs of lips kissing the corners of his mouth, and he felt when a tongue coaxed his lips apart. When he timidly opened up, he felt the tips of two tongues meeting his, and he moaned quietly in surprise. 

The man took over at some point, the hand on his nape angling his head up as he deepened the kiss and Akira tried to breathe. It was good. Easily, as if they were used to it, he pulled away in synch with his girlfriend pulling close, her lips continuing where he left off, making the boy dizzy with the sensations pumping in his body as he tried to keep up. 

It was a bit unsettling how she kissed exactly like her boyfriend. Her mouth was smaller, and her kiss wasn't as firm as his had been, but her lips moved very much the same way, and her tongue brushed against his very similarly. 

He was pulled back by a small tug on his hair at the nape, and soon he was being kissed again, by the boyfriend this time. He had a nice grip, and Akira felt a pleasant shiver as he was pressed hard against the wall. It hurt where he still had bruises, but it was pleasant. A breathless moan left his lips as he felt a tongue pressing against his just so. He could tell the boyfriend liked his reactions, and he filled the information away for when he'd have enough presence of mind to analyse it. Learn something from it. 

When they pulled apart, there was a glint in Akira's eyes, one they had seen before, when he had taken the stage at the casino, stunning and breathtaking enough to gather all the attention to himself. 

He picked up fast on things, and he had this part of him who liked pressing people's buttons. He was a good person, but also a little shit, and a pleaser. In a sense, a performer. When the girlfriend fell into his field of vision again, his lips curled up into a grin, all messy hair and mischief as he tilted her head up with long fingers and pressed a kiss to the smaller mouth. 

She seemed to like it, his cheeky and somewhat boyish charm. He kissed like he wanted more, like he could tear the act apart and learn it, make it his own. 

It was possible that because he always thought like that about everything in life he could wield so many personas. He could make so many shadows his own strength, his own mask. 

They pulled away when her phone went off, startling the three from their make out.

The woman checked her phone, and she looked disappointed.

"Oh damn. My boss needs me to check up something urgent. I've gotta go and I need you to drive me." She looked at her boyfriend, who sighed, seemingly disappointed too. 

It made sense. Her breath had an alcoholic scent to it, something not too strong, but noticeable.

"Oh, okay." Akira said, easily. 

"I'm sorry for cutting it short, but thanks for today! It was fun." She smiled and went for a peck on his lips, followed up by her boyfriend. 

Akira mustered up a little bit of his senses back to give a small smile and a wave, leaning on the wall with a hand on his pocket like he wasn't entirely blown away by the entire experience. His lips were a bit red, his hair was in a bit of disarray, and he looked far too good for someone panicking inside. 

He had just had his first kiss and he didn't even know who took it. 

It was... it didn't sit well with Ryuji, watching this, and it was difficult to sort out the mess of feelings on his chest. It wasn't jealousy per se. He refused to be that type of horrible man who thought people owe him something just because he took a fancy on them. Akira could do whatever he wanted, he was attractive, and, honestly, just all around amazing, and it made sense people would be drawn to him. 

Maybe it’d be easier if he was just jealous. But the feeling in his chest was so much more complicated. It was... it felt like his heart was breaking all over watching as random people got to kiss the boy he loved like it was nothing. How someone had just walked over and asked and they were rewarded with Akira's first kiss, with his soft lips and skilful hands, his wonderful voice and beautiful eyes. How could anyone not love him? How had they walked out on him, leaving that mess of a pretty boy there, flushed and beautiful, and so kind, so interesting and so amazing? 

It left a lump on his throat. Something almost like regret. He could have had this. He could have offered Akira, even if not a skilful kiss, a meaningful one. He would have been there with him to freak out over having kissed someone. 

He wouldn't have let the boy take a deep breath and put on his apron, burying confused feelings and dealing with it all alone. He was always kind of freaking out, thanks to his anxiety, so nothing new there. 

For all of the other thieves, it felt vaguely like guilt. They'd called him a show off, and brushed off his flair, but they had depended on it heavily. They never questioned his confidence, the charm and self assurance, all the skills he offered to them like it was nothing. But it was a guiding force. The steadiness of his voice as he gave orders as their leader. The flirtatious answers he came up with when he was trying to talk down some shadows from fighting. The serious and deep answers he'd dish out to others, and the occasional kind words to some. 

He'd take a look at the monsters and he'd guess how they ticked. He had to get to understand people, to have all the deep answers but all the charm to hold it all together. It seemed effortless, but he had given everything he had to learn all of it. He worked damn hard for every glimpse of smugness and charisma they looked at, to be the best leader he could. 

He went back to the counter, receiving a piercing stare from Lala.

“There’s lipstick blurs all over your lips.”

Akira felt his face warming up, but the blush wasn’t noticeable under the layers of makeup. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I don’t want to nag, I just want to make sure you’re okay,” she started, looking kindly at him. “No one forced themselves on you, right?”

“Oh, no. I just... “ he hesitated, unsure of how to explain. His heart was beating wildly, and he was a bit disoriented. Adrenaline sang in his veins. “That couple that was here earlier approached me, but it was just some kissing. I was curious, so I accepted.”

“Ohh. Do you like boys and girls, then?” she casually asked. 

“I think so?” his words trembled, and he had to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. He didn’t know why he was so upset. Lala immediately picked up the change in his demeanour.

“Hey, it’s okay, honey,” her voice was calm and steady, but gentle. “Come here, sit down. I was going to close the bar, today is a bit too slow.” She got up and flipped the sign, immediately coming back to him, finding him sitting in a stool. He kept his gaze on the floor, hands on the sides of his seat, looking small and uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, a bit shaky. He felt a bit all over the place. “It’s just… That’s the first time I told anyone. The first time I even… said it out aloud.” The confession felt heavy on his tongue, and his chest felt tight. It was terrifying, being seen, but he felt lost and confused, and he’d make that sacrifice if that meant getting some help from someone. Lala didn’t look like the type to spread other people’s secrets, and she would probably be accepting. It was a gay district, after all. 

“Hey, it’s okay. If you want, you can talk to me.” Lala smiled at him, and went back to the counter, to get him a glass of water. 

He accepted it, drinking half of it because his mouth felt a bit dry, but not all of it, because he wanted something to occupy his hands with. He stared at the glass, watching the water inside tremble slightly in his hold.

Did he want to talk about it? 

Probably, no. Well, maybe. He wanted to feel like it wasn’t a dirty secret, or something horrible. If he said it aloud he’d probably feel more like it was just… a part of him? People did say things looked scarier inside one’s head. Maybe, if he talked about it, it wouldn’t feel this overwhelming.

Even if talking itself tended to overwhelm him. He had some bad anxiety going on, after all. Interacting with people was always difficult, and, normally, stressful. He could know right away when someone liked what he said or did, and it was a good thing being perceptive. But. He was so anxious all the time. Everything could be the wrong step. Every small step could mean someone would find him out. Find out his lies, find out who he really was, or even find something that would send him to jail, send him out of Leblanc. His chest seized sometimes when he had to talk to people. His breath trembled when he had to interact with someone, even if he could do it flawlessly, with a steady voice and steady hands, holding his panicky heartbeat as a dear secret in his chest. 

Morgana had once pointed it out, understanding, like he didn’t think less of Akira for it, how the boy’s hands trembled when he was signing up for a membership at a store. Akira was worried about annoying the store clerk, and the people waiting in line behind him. He was nervous about writing his name nicely, and behaving politely, because he had to be in perfect shape every second of the day. Who knew when the council president would notice something from all of her following him around, or what if someone from school saw him and concluded he was threatening the attendant? What if he was being weird in some way? He knew he could be pretty weird sometimes. He had known it since before, he knew there was one right answer to everything, and mistakes tended to cost too much.

He couldn’t exactly stop being weird, but he could pretend. He was very good at pretending, and saying what people wanted to hear, which normally led him to be hurt so much less. For example, when Sojiro told him how the ladies loved a man who knew how to brew a nice cup of coffee, he knew the old man wanted him to be a very much straight man, and answer him he wanted all the tips to be popular with the ladies. Was it difficult to infer? No. His guardian seemed to be pretty strict about those things, refusing to even have his number, even if Akira was his ward, because he wouldn’t save a guy’s number to his phone. The next day he had complained about how men shouldn’t sit in his car too. So, no, not very difficult to know he’d prefer Akira being very straight and undeniably masculine. 

To say he had already blown it was an understatement. Akira had failed that requisite so spectacularly it was almost hilarious, and there was no fixing it. But. He was good at pretending. Hiding his feelings and pretending were two of his best tools to try and get away in life with the very broken pieces of his heart, thank you very much. He was already doing poorly at that thing of not being hurt, so, he wasn’t really planning on dropping his defences so soon.

But. He was really struggling with his newfound feelings, and he didn’t want to ruin things between him and his best friend. 

Lala probably had some good advice to give. And Akira really didn't want to butcher his friendship with Ryuji. Talking was difficult, and he couldn't do it for himself, but for his friends, he could. 

Lala had waited for him, not a single word to pressure him, and not the tiniest frown in her face for him having taken so long to say something. He could understand why lots of people came back here, came back to talk to her. She was patient, and caring. A very good listener. Akira was used to being in that role. It was so odd being the one talking. 

“I’ve known I’m… attracted to both sexes? For a while. I don't know what exactly this is. I just know I've been noticing people, boys and girls alike. It's just that… I might… well.” His words came out all jumbled, tangled in one another, as it was normally the case when someone tried to put into words things that have never been said aloud. “There's this boy? He's… he’s very good to me. He’s loud and brash, but he’s really caring, and he’s always looking out for me. He saved my life. He keeps leaning on me, and sitting close, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst. I can be myself when I’m with him, and it’s… freeing? I don’t know. But he’s straight, you know. Which I sometimes wish I could be, but… Well, I realized a few days ago that I…”

He hid his face in his arms as they rested on the counter.

"I might be in love with him," he whispered.

For his surprise, there was a reassuring pat on his head, and he looked up, frightened grey eyes meeting heavy makeup and a soft understanding. 

"I know it doesn't look like this now, but I promise there's nothing wrong with you."

His breath hitched, and he clenched his teeth, holding back tears. It should be something so small, but being accepted like that had been something so far off throughout all his life. It was very precious, having someone he could trust with that, and, for a moment, he just thought of how much he was going to miss that when he was back to his hometown. 

He needed a moment to recompose himself, and finally whisper a few of his so tightly guarded insecurities.

"He will never look at me like that. What can I do to take this off my chest? To get over it?" 

"First of all, you don't really know if he won't ever look at you like that. At your age lots of kids are figuring out what they like, and it's okay. Of course, you could be right, and chances are high on that. But you could be wrong. And anyway, for all you know, he could be gay and still don’t want to date you. There’s lots we don’t know in life.” She pulled in a breath from her cigarette, breathing it away from him. “But even so, maybe you have to figure yourself out before trying a relationship, boy. You have to think and want things for yourself. Try not to rush things. You’re just coming to terms you might be bi, let it sink for a while. I struggled with myself a lot before I came to be comfortable being who I am and wearing what I really wanted to wear." 

"I... I understand.” He really did. Of course part of him wanted to rush in, wanted something to happen, for better or worse. “It makes sense. It's just that... I know some girls, and they are nice, sometimes I just think that I could make it work with them, even if I'm... in love with someone else." He looked away, unsure.

"It wouldn't be fair to them, and you'd feel awful, boy, trust me. They are your friends, and you will end up hurting them if you try to lie to yourself and to them.” He flinched at that, and it was this bit heartwarming seeing how much he cared for his friends. How he really didn’t want to hurt them, and how he wished the best for all of them. “You shouldn't use other people to try and forget your feelings. It's cruel, and it normally doesn't even work." she drew a deep breath through her cigarette and blew it out, watching the smoke disappearing. 

He knew she was right. He hadn't really think things that far, but it sounded reasonable. He might not forget his feelings and he would make them think it was their fault somehow, and it wouldn't be fair for them. 

Even if there was a part of him that wanted to wreck everything, that had half of a mind of doing it just because he could. He could probably get a lot of them to date him at the same time, and wasn’t there a thrill to it?

He wasn’t stupid. He knew he would get caught, eventually, and maybe that was the whole point. Maybe he wanted so desperately to be seen. Because he wanted to hurl just imagining himself pretending to be in a nice and normal relationship with some girl he didn’t like, hiding who he was. It was a pretense with no expiration date, while if he tricked all of them, he would be caught. He would be seen, for the first time, and they would know. He wouldn't be stuck in a lukewarm relationship for who knows how long. He would have a great thrill, and a dramatic reveal, and everything would be over just like that.  


And, honestly, all of those girls, would they even miss him? He was going back to his hometown, and they would surely forget all about him anyway. He couldn't lose something he never had from the start, and he might not have their friendship. He really could just date all of them, and go back to his old town not having lost anything he wasn't already going to lose anyway. 

If he didn't have any chance with whom he really loved, what was the point of trying to play nice? 

Because life wasn’t merciful to him, and that great love thing wasn’t really helping him now, and so what if someone got hurt? He was hurting all the time, and no one stopped to think about it. He could die any of these days, and what would he have to show he lived? What difference did it make? He wasn’t even sure if any of these people really  _ knew _ him. He could pretend to be whoever, the rest of his life, and no one would even notice. He could pretend to love all of them, pretend they were the only one for him.

The scariest part was that he could see himself doing it. He honestly just had two settings: absolute apathy or caring so much his heart broke all over. 

But, if he did it, what came after that? He would still have nothing, and he would know he was just plain horrible. He didn't want to be that kind of person. He knew he could be, but he didn't want to make anyone hurt as he was hurting. And it was more of a stubbornness, he had this principle and he wanted to stick to it. At that point, he honestly didn't care that much about what people felt, but he cared about his sense of justice. If he betrayed those people, he would have betrayed himself, and Arsene, and his own principles were the only thing he really had at this point. 

And maybe he knew that no matter how extravagant the trick he pulled, he would still feel empty at the end of the day, when he was lying in his makeshift bed. He knew he would still feel empty when he went back to his hometown, and lay in his old bedroom. All of that would be just a trick, a shot for an adrenaline junkie, and he would just need another one. Everything would be dull and meaningless again, and the threshold for the next high would be even harder to surpass. He might been more tempted f he had any hope of actually feeling something big after tricking all of those girls, but he knew it was just a cheap thrill, that would die down soon.

He knew he wasn’t ready for a relationship the way he was at the moment, still so ashamed, and confused, and scared. Trying to prove things for himself, uncaring if he hurt other people. She was right, he was a mess, and he had a lot to figure out before reaching that point where he could be in a good relationship. Where he could honestly be trusted with someone else's heart.  


But when would he be ready? From where should he start? He had such an awesome friendship with Ryuji. He didn’t want things to take a turn for the worse. He wanted them to really have a shot at being good to each other, at staying in each other’s life, even years in the future.

“Everyone says first loves are doomed to fail.” He frowned, something complicated in his expression. “I just… I hate to think something is doomed to anything. What should I do?”

“That’s bullshit. Nothing in life is doomed to anything, and you’re right. Lots of romances end, and that’s not only first love.” Lala gently tapped some ashes off her cigarette. “The message behind this is ‘don’t stay in an unhappy relationship just because it’s your first you’re scared of going after other people’. It’s not that everyone who met their partners early on is going to fail, no exceptions.” She paused. “What is true though, is that you’re really young and you might end up rushing into things without being entirely prepared. And that can ruin things for you.”

“You’re right.” He swallowed dry that small apprehension in his throat. Took a deep breath, and tried to center his thoughts. “I… think I should think about it for a while. ”

“You’re going to do great, kid.” She smiled at him, and it was so great having someone older in whom he could trust, at least that bit. “You’ve been through so much for your age already, I know you can stay calm and think things through. You seem to know who you are, deep in your heart, and that’s really rare. You won’t fail, knowing it.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, and he meant it with all his heart. Something loosened in his chest, and he felt more calm. Even if that didn’t mean he would want to share with his friends that bit about himself, it did mean he was more in peace with himself. He could start to work on that. He could start to accept himself, and it was such a large step, even if that was just the beginning. 

He stopped to consider why he had been feeling so desperate lately. Why he even thought about just dating some girl who liked him, something easy and good. But, and he couldn’t stop himself from being angry at it, why couldn’t he have something easy and sweet and wonderful just because he wasn’t straight?

He wanted to go on a date, and have fun, and kiss and be kissed, and be happy, even if he had fallen for a boy. He wished he could just tell his friends. His parents, maybe, but lately he didn’t even think about it. He wished he could tell Sojiro, and not be afraid of his reaction. 

It hadn't been that fun being kissed by random people. It was nice, of course, and he learned a lot. But he had this feeling it too would get boring with time. His heart wasn't into it, and he couldn't help but wonder how it would be if the boy he liked kissed him instead. He couldn’t help but wonder how would it be to date his best friend. Because, oh, how utterly  _ alive _ he felt when his best friend so much smiled at him. How lively and good things were when they were just being comfortable in each other’s presence, when just living was good and exciting. Even things they did all the time, that should have lost their shine, were still interesting, and Akira didn’t feel that need to risk himself to feel something. He could feel safe, and cared for, and that was so much better than going for the adrenaline. 

He wanted them to hold hands, and to play videogames and have snacks. He wanted it to be what they have, and a little more. He craved contact, and he knew he was starving for it, but he couldn't bring himself to want that from just anyone. He didn’t mind making out, but he reeled at the idea of having strangers hug him, or cuddle with him, touch him like they knew he was vulnerable, and not just because he was a pretty face. In a way, he was someone who had learned to keep everyone at a very safe distance. That included touch, even if it was mostly what was behind each touch that counted. He didn’t want people to wrench his heart open, and see all of his soft spots, hug him only to strike later. 

But things were good when his best friend touched him, things were amazing, even, and they understood each other, and it was this easier being himself when he had the blond by his side. He wanted to keep that, and he wanted them to be so much more.  


Was it just one of those things Akira could never have, no matter how much he wished for it? Maybe he had lost his chance at being a functional human being when he decided he should dull his senses and ignore his pain, and now he couldn’t feel things right. 

His thoughts felt an enormous mess, he couldn’t even keep them in order inside his head. Everything came out jumbled, and he still couldn’t make sense of everything he was feeling. He still felt raw from his time in that police station, wired up too tightly, panicky, hurting, desperate. Too many things. Too much for him to deal with in too little time. He tried to focus, tried to think about what else Lala could help him with. It felt like a one in a lifetime chance, and he wanted her advice. He wanted to know how to deal with this old shame of his.  


“Sometimes I just wonder if things wouldn’t be better if I could just be normal.” The memory blurred in his tears, and he looked down, letting small drops fall on his lap. 

"Hey,” her voice was low, but gentle. “Listen to Lala, dear. It's gonna be tough, and it's gonna be painful sometimes, but I promise you: it's worth it. When you stand someday, being who you really are, loving and being loved without shame, you will know it's worth it." 

"How did you... why did you get the courage to dress like this?" He looked up, taking in all of her beautiful clothes, and all of the colourful accessories. "To call yourself a woman, and wear all the extravagant stuff you wanted?" 

"There's a practical aspect," she started, a thoughtful look in her face. "I needed the money to get this business going, where I'd be my own boss, and my gender or sexuality wouldn't matter. But... even when you have the means to, we have to be able to face who you are and be actually proud of it. When you can, you can show the others and be fine with whatever happens next." 

“Hey, Lala…” He looked vaguely at the shelves behind her, not really looking at her eyes. “Do you think everyone has to be either a boy or a girl?”

“Of course not.” She gave off a laugh, smoke escaping her lips. “Those things are far more complex. You see, I’m a drag queen. For me, this is a performance, and also a rebellion. I’m not trying to pass as a woman. I refer to myself using feminine words when I’m in drag, and assume another name. But I can still chose to be a man after I took it all off. It’s not about this.” She paused, breathing in more smoke. “But… I get a feeling it’s a bit different from you. How do you feel?”

“Like… sometimes it really bothers me how I look.” He frowned, trying to find his words. “I feel like wearing girl clothes, and all of that. I feel like, sometimes, I am a girl, deep down. But sometimes, I’m not. Sometimes I’m ok with my body, with being the boy I see in the mirror. Some days, I don’t feel much like either. I’d like to dress in such an undefined way no one would be able to tell, and demand from me being one or another. It’s… I’ve thought about it for a long time. I mean… I could be imagining it. It’s just that… it gives such bad anxiety, the days when I hate looking and being identified as a boy. I don’t mind the words, I don’t think I’d be comfortable changing them, but… I hate imagining people looking at me and thinking ‘boy’. I don’t know. I feel like crawling out of my skin when I look at myself, some days.” His voice was impossibly quiet. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just faking it.”

“You’re welcome to crossdress here, if you want,” she gently said. “ You’ll have to experiment for a bit, but you will find what makes you feel comfortable with yourself.”

“Thanks.” And he meant it with all of his heart, so much it ached. He looked down, melancholic. “But I’m on probation, and even breathing too loud gets me in trouble these days. One day, maybe.”

She looked grave at his words, a quiet anger behind her kind demeanour. She knew how unfair his arrest had been, and she hated how that was one more thing stopping him from expressing himself. She knew how painful it was to hide like that. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but one day you’ll be happy and proud of being who you are. You’ll be able to do all of those things you want, and you’ll express yourself with a devil’s dare, and you’ll feel free. You won’t want to trade it for anything in the world.” Her voice was firm, and certain, because she also knew how life changed, she knew better days came, even for people like them.  


“When I get there, I’ll come back here to thank you.” He smiled melancholic at her, trying to say something positive to repay her kindness. Trying to at least look like he had hope.

Lala said he needed time to get over it, but he didn't have time. The year would end, and he'd be back to his hometown and no one would want to even look his way. There would be no chance for him to receive any kind of affection there. His next chance would be God knows when, when he somehow managed to get out of said town.  


He took a deep breath, and decided to put some real thought about it.

The scene changed. Akira was just finishing drying a glass, a thoughtful expression on his face. He was still wearing makeup, Ann noted, so it must have been still in the same week as the memory before. He didn’t look up from his chores, deep in thought.

Figure himself out, huh? It made sense. Maybe, if he was a bit more comfortable with who he was, he would do a better job at confessing. Or not confessing, but maybe he would have an easier time being in his own skin, which wasn’t happening at the moment.

He was wiping his glasses on his apron, having finished with the dishes for the time being, when a young man caught his gaze, sending a small smile in his direction. His heart went straight to his throat, and, out of reflex, he pulled out Joker’s grin, all messy hair and mischief. The other man blinked fast, seemingly a bit flustered.

Oh. Akira wasn’t really thinking when he smiled back, he wasn’t expecting his charm to work that easily.

If only that worked on Ryuji. But the blond literally fought by his side, and Akira didn't think he looked the tiniest bit affected by his smiles. Well, at least Akira himself knew now he was somewhat attractive, maybe. That books about flirting might be working… 

“Hello, pretty boy.” The man sat down on the stool right across him, smiling.

“Hi.” Oh, that was not exactly supposed to happen. Were they flirting? He wasn't trying to do that. The man had an undercut and very bleached blond hair, and a part of Akira found it very attractive. He very firmly didn’t think about why. He did wet his lips without noticing.

He wasn't entirely paying attention when a hand tangled itself on the front of his shirt, and he was being pulled down to a kiss. 

He caught himself on the counter, still trying to catch up with whatever was happening, until instinct kicked in and he put up a brave face, kissing back. He was a bit startled, but it was fine, it was training at least, and he could always sharpen his skills. He was glad he had taken to shoo Mona to take a walk after he realised how many opportunities Crossroads had for him. 

Lala elbowed him, and he jumped, taking a few steps back. She rolled up a magazine and lightly smacked her client’s head. 

“No eating up my staff, okay? And he’s a minor, so keep it cool.”

“Oh, sorry, Lala-chan.” The customer seemed sheepish under Lala’s fierce glare.

Akira shrugged, and went back to his work. 

The scene changed, flashes of other nights. Not many, but a dozen or so. Cute and petite girls. Punkish. Tall guys. Shorter. Stolen kisses when he found himself alone for some reason. The thrill of pulling in people, charming and bold, unchained. 

One heated invitation from a man, about going somewhere private just the two of them. Akira declined, coming up with some excuse that could hide the sudden realization he didn't want to go because he was a bit scared. 

When he got home, and he was lying in his makeshift bed, Morgana fast asleep by his side, he took a moment to think back about the past weeks.

It was so easy faking it. It was the easiest thing ever kissing someone he didn’t care for, a total stranger. He wondered, idly, if all those playboys out there were like that. If all of them were cowards like him, scared of getting attached, offering charming smiles and that alluring sense of danger, trying to look so tough, but, deep down, just too scared to love for real. 

Maybe the real cool people were the ones who fell in love, and confessed, and got hurt, but kept honest, kept trying, no matter how hard things got. 

He discarded the thought. Didn’t care. Wondering didn't get him anything anyway.

As he suspected, it was getting boring the whole making out with strangers plan. It was a good break from his anxiety, from the panic he sometimes felt gripping his chest, but it wasn’t that good. The adrenaline was good, the whole doing-something-just-to-prove-he-could thing was good, but it felt empty. It was a distraction, though, and not mulling over things that caused him pain was a nice break. When he was being kissed by someone it was easy to stop thinking about what the hell he was going to do when the year ended and he was shipped back to his hometown. It was simple not thinking about how he had almost died. How easily someone he tried to befriend could put a cold barrel of a gun to his head and try to murder him. It was easy not thinking of how his heart lurched in his chest every time a tiny thing reminded him of his interrogation, and of how he hated how perfect his own poker face was, clenched teeth and vague smiles, pretending so perfectly he wasn’t affected. When he was busy being a charming bastard, he wasn’t really thinking on his life back home, on all of those friends he had so blindly trusted in the past, on the threat of being arrested again, on how to help all of his friends to deal with their lives, on how to keep them all safe when he was their leader in the metaverse. 

And, since Akira was always thinking, getting a break of all of that was a blessing. Even if, in order to really achieve that, he needed the adrenaline, and he wasn’t getting any now his whole tirade of making out with whoever was getting boring. 

Going out with Ryuji, though, was still fun, and he felt alive. He managed to do just fine, putting his feelings in a little box and enjoying the few moments he had when he was feeling something, and that thing was good. It soothed that ache on his chest, that thing that made him so maddengly numb sometimes he had to just do something dangerous and self destructive so he could feel something. Being seen, and cared for was better, it was wonderful, and he sometimes wished so hard he could keep it in his life. And oh, how close he’d come to actually dreaming, to wishing for things that weren’t possible. But he had been that person before, and he didn’t want to come down from that high again.

In the end, it boils down to the fact he had kind of liked kissing strangers because it was some sort of contact, reasonably within his control, and not hurtful. And he had this from Ryuji too, just much better because he felt safer, and it was something steady and good in his life. The only problem was that he wanted a little more every time, and that could ruin them.

He would wonder then, if he should just do something risky and totally absurd just so he could let go of his love entirely. He thought back of the man who invited him to go somewhere private, and sometimes he wished he had accepted. 

He wondered if he should just fuck with whoever showed up who looked decent, and stop having romantic daydreams. Maybe the shock of having a stranger touching him when he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it would make him snap out of his delusions. 

But, and at this point that was the only thing holding him back, when would he ever stop? What if that ended up being the same as making out with strangers? Interesting now, and absolutely dull in some weeks. He would be fucking with strangers, and what next? He would end up dead and humiliated at some point before he could ever achieve something.

What would ever make him stop hurting? 

What did it matter, anyway? 

He sighed, resting one arm over his eyes. He knew he was being stupid just because he was hurt. He didn’t get this far in life being absolutely clueless. He knew he was being whiny, and a coward who just wanted someone to hold him and tell him everything would be okay. 

And he knew no one would come to save him, and if he wanted saving he would have to do it himself. He might not get to date Ryuji at all, and that whole love thing might really be just out to get him, but that didn’t give him the right to be a bastard to other people. The world was already too grimy and horrible, and he honestly didn’t want to add to that. He didn’t really want to hurt his friends. They might not miss him when he was gone, and they might not have really known him that much, but they have trusted him, and he wouldn’t betray them like that. They have opened up to him, and he respected that, he knew how terrifying trusting someone with your vulnerable side was. He refused to be the backstabbing type. 

And, if he chose to not tell Ryuji anything, that was on himself. He didn’t get to be a bastard to his best friend just because he didn’t have the courage to confess and deal with the fallout. Ryuji didn’t owe him anything, and Akira couldn’t hurt him. He would do good to his friends, because it was the right thing to do, and the world was miserable enough, and Akira didn’t want to be just one more bastard to be tolerated. Being hurt wasn’t a good enough excuse to be horrible. He wasn’t helping that fucked up established order even with small actions and behaviours. He refused. He wouldn’t comply, he would never bow to that. 

He didn’t quite know what to do, in order to not feel that much emotional pain, but he knew how to be good to people. And mean it. He didn’t outright lie most of the time, he just said things he meant, and didn’t explain the whole context about why he meant that. Even with Sojiro. Akira did want to be popular with the ladies. He liked being good at things, and he liked being charming. He just didn’t tell he wanted to be popular with lots of people, boys included. 

He liked gardening, and going to the museum, and he wasn't lying when he was helping his friends. He was observant, it was easy to empathise with people, it was easy listening to them, and understanding their problems. He didn’t have to reveal that much about himself, no one was even asking most of the time. 

He could be truthful, not hurt people and not reveal himself enough to be hurt too. He could make it work. Even if he was still suffering, he could make things better for others, it was something he wanted, something he had been giving everything to do with the Phantom Thieves project. He could use his keen perception of people’s feelings and do something good with it. His friends were good people, and they deserved being cared for. He found he could honestly do it. 

He took a very deep breath, and his emotional pain was off charts, he hurt absolutely everywhere in his chest, in his guts, and trauma threatened to swallow him whole, but he could do it. He checked his phone, and genuinely smiled at Haru’s text, inviting him to the rooftop. She just needed someone to be there for her, talk to her while they were tending to the vegetables. Akira could do it. It would be difficult, sneaking to the rooftop when he was supposed to be dead, but he had done worse. It would be fine. 

His heart still hurt, but it wasn’t in danger of destroying anyone else, and Akira could bear with it. He meticulously put his alarm on, considering the time to go to Takemi and buy some more painkillers. It has been three weeks since his interrogation, and while the bruises on his face faded, his ribs still hurt. He was quite certain by now they had been at least cracked, and the small twinge when he moved was still painful enough to leave him out of breath sometimes. He would really need the pain meds if he wanted to meet up with Haru. She kept asking him to carry heavy sacks of soil, since he was a man, but his body hadn't been entirely up to the task. Even so, he wasn't blowing his cover now he had gotten so far. It’s not like it was actually that dangerous, so there was no reason not to do it. He just had to dull the pain, and keep going. 

He wondered, idly, what was the real difference between not being hurt and not feeling pain. 

He curled up and went to sleep, waiting until exhaustion won against the permanent anxiety in his chest, and the peculiar feeling his heart was breaking all over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand this is my take on the whole harem route. I mean, there is that option, and I like to think all the presented options in game are things he'd at least considered to do, in his head. Akira is someone with very strong ideals, but I think he likes pushing peoples buttons and… honestly i can see how he'd consider doing it. I can see how he'd do it bc he was tired and hurt. I don't really think he'd do it to be the whole alpha male or to actually get away with it. Honestly, he's not putting that much effort into not being found out, so, I think he'd get into it knowing it would blow up. He'd consider doing it for the hell of it. To convince himself of not doing it, he'd have to have good points that could dissuade himself, past the ‘society thinks it's wrong' argument. I think knowing why he even does these things (performancer/adrenaline junkie after getting tired of not feeling anything- Akira doesn’t have a single healthy coping mechanism, fight me) is how he'd eventually conclude it's not really worth it. 
> 
> Now, I do think him making out with random people would be a good outlet for his frustrations, and he'd take it, y'know, to work on his ~charm. (how to be a heartbreaker intensifies) It would also explain his frankly bold kissing style (if you chose Ann's route, you get an eyeful of that). That is no movement someone would try for their first kiss, not without probably chipping some teeth in the process. About the location, I think the Crossroads would give him lots of opportunities. Heavily based in my own experiences in those places. 
> 
> About his anxiety, when you go sign in for membership in the DVD rental store, Mona points out Akira's hand was shaking when he was signing up. Mona then cheers him up, and don't tease him about it, but, the fact remains that Akira gets nervous when doing simply interactions such as dealing with store clerks *laughs*. Of course, not only that, but, seriously, when you're this perceptive of people, and you can know right away if you messed up a conversation? That's anxiety fuel, for sure. Lots of things about him kinda points to that, in my opinion. Even when he's just standing up, he kinda flexes his neck, rubbing it and at his shoulders, as if it's all knotted in tension, something a lot of anxious people probably can relate to. Honestly, I noticed it mostly because once I was doing the exact same thing when he started doing it on screen *laughs*
> 
> About Lala, she's so sweet. She's always protecting Akira when she thinks Ohya is overstepping, or saying something that could make him uncomfortable, or acting in some way she thinks it's taking advantage of him (namely, how Ohya digged up his record and didn't want to show any of her cards). She keeps an eye on Ohya when she's drinking next to you, and when she's trying to pressure you into drinking. She always makes note if it's too late, and asks Akira to please be careful on his way home, and, honestly, she's one of the few who is really caring and good to him from the start, no strings attached. And lots of people go to her for advice, for a good listener, and I think it's because she's really good at it. Akira surely needed that in his life, someone to listen to him. Maybe if she didn't help him think, he'd gone through his harem plan? *laughs* Who knows. 
> 
> About her characterization, there's a few things I should note. I was actually at a panel in university about LGBT+ issues in Japan. We got to talk to the students presenting it, so it was very cool. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get that much information about the issues Japan has with transgender people and gender issues. We talked more about the whole hiding thing, which apparently is really really big there. And lots of the students who were presenting the panel were exchange students. About Lala, the okama figure is kinda old, and I’m sure there’s a lot of stories about them, and symbols that don’t entirely fit in the western narrative of the drag queen… But I didn’t really have reliable sources about it, so I decided to write Lala with what I solidly know from a friend of mine who’s a drag queen, but also presents and identifies as a male. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in answering the comments, very bad things came up and I’m trying to… well, solve them. I prioritized editing the chapter so to keep up with the schedule, but I promise I’m getting to them as soon as I can! Thank you so much for commenting, it really really helped me. 
> 
> Heads up, this chapter is bigger than our average.

There was silence after the last of the memory played. The after-image of Akira lying in his bed, the world on his shoulders, heartbroken and wounded, seemed to have seared itself in their minds. His shadow was looking at them, seemingly unbothered, like he didn’t really think it was a big deal. 

Shadow Akira was resting his face on one propped up knee, his free leg kicking out absentmindedly. He seemed deep in thought, a stark difference from his initial shyness about his nightly escapades. Eventually, he spoke up.

“It… I know lots of people have this kind of… black and white perception of going out to bars, and all of that. Half of them think it’s dirty and wrong, and half seems to think if you don’t do it, you’re not really living your life, and I think both are just plain stupid.” He shook his head. “I did it because I wanted to do something, and the opportunity was there, and I’m not sure what I was trying to accomplish at the beginning, but… It really helped build up my confidence.”

He looked up, staring at one velvet covered wall. “And no, it doesn’t have to do with how many people hit on me, or are attracted to me, it’s… I think since you don’t really know those people, you learn to understand how, sometimes, when someone doesn’t want anything with you, the problem is not you. And then you start doing things for yourself?” He shrugged, as if he couldn’t really explain himself better. After a moment, he took a deep breath, settling his other feet on the ground, readjusting his posture a bit, and looked up at Ryuji.

“Like, if I got stuck on getting your approval, I’d always second guess myself ‘oh, would he like my hair like this?’, ‘what would he think of me in these slacks?’. But being exposed to all of those people, I realised people’s tastes are really varied, and there’s always a place to be how you are. And, if someone didn’t want me, it didn’t affect my self image that much, because there are others. I don’t know, maybe that’s something that comes naturally to people, but, to me, it wasn’t.”

He sighed, looking at the ceiling again.

“I learned how to be more comfortable with myself doing that, and to interact with different people. I don’t regret it, at all.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I learned that I could be charming, that it isn’t that hard to flirt and hit on people, and know when to back down. I felt less inadequate, knowing even I could know what to do in those situations, even if I’m an anxious wreck.” He huffed a laugh, ruffling his own hair with one hand. 

“It’s just that, after some time, I knew I had to confront my feelings for you, and while I didn’t do that, kissing other people felt like running away. And, of course, that didn’t give me any clue about what to do with my feelings, nor how should I act with you.” He still had a small smile on his face, but he looked away, staring at the stone floor, and didn’t offer any more words.

Futaba was the one to break the silence. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” her voice trembled slightly, small hands balled up in fists. “Or Sojiro! Your parents might not have accepted you, but Sojiro… He’s different. He wouldn’t…” she seemed conflicted, trying to defend her father, and knowing the old man hadn’t really shown Akira much to reassure him he would be accepting. 

Sojiro had always been softer and more lenient with her, he had hinted here and there, when something came up on television, that he would always be on her side, no matter what she chose in life, and she knew what he was talking about, but… She had seen Akira’s memories, and she knew Sojiro had tried to bond with him the way he knew how: trying to trade tips about ladies and trying to bond over the fact they were both men. It could have worked. It was a generic strategy, but it wasn’t a bad one. Ryuji and Yusuke had liked when Boss started lecturing them on flirting, on love, being that older figure that knew what he was doing, who had figured out how to be a good man. 

But Akira didn’t feel like a man all the time, and the reminder that he _should_ was tearing him apart. Maybe, he felt guilty about everything he hid, but he didn’t really know how to be out in the open anymore. 

His shadow sighed, propping one knee up again and resting his chin on it. 

“It’ll look silly, but… I have a memory concerning this. About when I decided I didn’t want to upset Sojiro.” His voice was minimal, but before anyone could say anything else, the room darkened again.

It seemed to be summer in the memory, Akira’s uniform the lighter version of Shujin’s attire as he entered the cafe. 

Sojiro greeted him back, smiling at him. 

Their friend looked stunned for a moment, honestly caught off guard when his guardian suddenly complimented him for his good grades and offered him a small amulet made with coffee beans for it. 

Something raw but so very tender swelled up in his heart, but he was quick to dismiss it and try to ignore the hopeful thing that tried to blossom on his chest. He hadn't been expecting something so... paternal from the man, and, after so long without that kind of attention, it made him ache for having just a little more of it. 

He thanked his guardian for the gift, one hand hesitantly rubbing his own neck, visibly embarrassed, but happy. 

The scene changed slightly, to another day. When they all started to investigate his daughter's circumstances, and Akira tried harder than everyone else. He even summoned all of his courage and straight up asked his guardian about it, maybe because somewhere in his heart he had begun to believe he could talk to him, that he had a place there. 

He was shot down on the spot, and the threat of being kicked out felt more real than ever this time. Even the cat on his shoulder seemed to think so, his features falling into a sheepish, little sad face as he suggested they give up on that course of action. 

Akira stood silent, his eyes vaguely staring at the wooden floor of Leblanc. He wasn’t really heartbroken, just… He felt stupid for having overstepped again, for having entertained the notion of being… 

A small, tiny voice in the back of his head whispered to him about how he shouldn’t let his guard down like that. Sojiro’s anger had been fierce, his threats of kicking his ward out were real. And that was when Akira had a good reason to bother him, to not meet his expectations. What would happen if he ever told the man about other things? If he admitted to being-

It wasn’t worth it. What was one more omission? Things were fine. He didn’t need to say anything. 

But he looked this little bit defeated, standing alone in the cafe, Sojiro’s words and anger fresh in his mind. 

The small fragment of memory ended, and Akira’s shadow looked thoughtful. 

"I was expecting things to be like they were back home,” he started, kicking his free leg absentmindedly. “But then Sojiro started paying attention to me, the good kind of attention, and… I didn’t know what to do with it. He gave me an honest to God reward because I've been doing well at school? Even if it was entirely my obligation to do well? To, you know, study, don't get kicked out of school?" He sighed heavily, a small frown in place.

"He paid attention to my grades, and he gave me an amulet he did himself, made of his precious coffee beans, wishing for good luck in my exams? He didn't have to do it, and I wasn't expecting it, but it..." he sounded entirely baffled, like even to this day he didn’t understand the attention he was given.

"He brought me to church with Futaba, and talked to his dead friend about his new family, and he told me I was part of it. That at first he just wanted someone to help him out at the cafe but I ended up teaching him a lot, and he regretted the way he talked to me back then, but was glad we got to meet, and how he would protect me from everything with all he had." 

His words were coming quicker, a bit jumbled up as he felt a lump on his throat. 

It was complicated. His relationship with his guardian started off roughly, and he was one of the people he had tried the hardest to impress. There was something about the old man, something just beneath the surface, that hinted at soft kindness, and support, and Akira felt like he'd do anything to have that. Part of him had been wary, still untrusting of adults, but another part of him wanted to get the man to open up to him. 

And Akira did make him open up, and he suddenly was privy to all of the kindness and care the old man had to offer. When winter came along, Sojiro wordlessly kept refuelling the old heater in the attic, and Akira felt loved. 

But it all came with a price. He was convinced he got that because he behaved like his guardian would have wanted. If he messed up, everything could be taken back. 

"It meant a lot. My parents didn't really choose me, and if they could, I can't say they would have. But Sojiro did, and I wanted him as part of my family too." His voice was impossibly small as he looked down, grey eyes vaguely staring at the floor.

"When he opens up, he's very kind, and caring.” His voice was still very quiet. “There's a reason why Futaba's palace was sad and disturbing in lots of ways, but she was a queen there. He did whatever he could think of to dote on her, and to make things better. She felt trapped, yes, and her thoughts were stuck in morbid loops, but she was a queen. If we had looked at it before, it might not have been. Back, when her uncle was with her, I doubt she wouldn't have looked thinner, bruised or bloodied like me. He did what he could, and I think it's awesome." 

Akira respected Sojiro, even if they had clashed a bit in the beginning. Even if it was hard getting the old man and his quiet demeanour. He was grateful for how respecting Boss was about his boundaries, how he listened. And probably because he never demanded Akira’s secrets, Akira wanted to share them with him. 

"He got his beloved cafe destroyed by the police, and got arrested because of a boy he hadn't known for a year, but he stuck to me.” Akira’s voice trembled slightly, even if his expression was set on stone. “Even when he found the calling card at Futaba's room, he gave us the chance to explain. He actually listened, and, honestly? How many adults do you know who would have listened? And he did better, he believed in us, right when everyone was spitting at our name, and he promised he would keep me safe." 

He took a deep breath, unfolding his legs and setting his feet on the floor. His hands rested on his sides, gripping slightly the edge of the metal coth he was sitting on. He looked up, wistifully.

"I'd have traded anything to keep him in my life. I knew what it was to have someone to greet me back home, and actually smile at my grades, and to listen and believe in me. How would I go back to not having that?" His voice cracked quite badly at that, and it was suddenly obvious how he wouldn't be holding up well back at his hometown. 

"I've even thought about just... telling him, you know? He believed in me when I said I could outright steal hearts and make people repent. He listened to us when everyone wanted us dead.” his voice was hoarse, but he kept going. “My own flesh and blood wouldn't listen to me when I was convicted the first time, no matter how anyone who looked hard enough could see my judgement was odd, and rigged. But he was different, and he might not hold it against me if I told him I liked boys too." His voice was unbearably quiet at this point, and he needed a minute to recompose himself before trying to say something again.

"But then I was faced with the entirely opposite dilemma I was used to. If once I wouldn't have come out to my parents because I was afraid of being kicked out and making things worse, now I was actually worried about Sojiro's opinion on the matter. What would he think of me? What if he got disappointed? I wanted him to be happy with me, because I liked him."

He sighed again, staring at the floor.

"I know I could try to be that kind of person who comes out to their family, and face whatever happens next.” He kept his gaze far away, thoughtful. “But I've just seen how thin of a line I was walking on. I messed up once and then had to spend months worrying about messing up again and end up homeless, or arrested. I was sent to Tokyo with no money on me, and I discovered how hard it was to get a day by with no food. I couldn't risk more than I already was.” 

He fell silent again for a moment.

“I wore our uniform strictly according to the dress code, and made it top of my class and never ever spoke up even if someone was being mean to me. If my parents so much imagined that I wasn't straight who knew if they'd still be up to all my trouble? They could just stop paying Sojiro, and what then? He could send me back, and they could just refuse to open the door.” 

He huffed a bitter laugh at that. 

“Hell, he could've just kicked me out and I might not have enough on me to even get back home. For all my parents hadn't done for me, they were paying off my new guardian. At the end of the day, it didn't matter if they did it just to keep up appearances. I had somewhere to sleep, and I even had breakfast to go with it. I could go to school and have a shot at scoring a job in the future. Of course, chances were shit considering I had a criminal record, but they'd be better if I at least finished high school.” There was a half smile on his face, and it wasn’t difficult to see how angry he was at the unfairness of it. “I couldn't risk losing even more back then. What did I care if they knew I was bi? They didn't know anything about me, and I couldn't find it in myself to want anyone to try and know me. It was exposure, it was a risk. I'd end up hurt again." 

“And… did you. I mean…” Ann stuttered, hesitantly. “You said it didn’t matter if your parents didn’t know. And you didn’t want to tell Sojiro. But why didn’t you tell us?”

Ryuji nodded, and spoke up.

“Yeah, it was kinda reckless to just pick up people in the red light district without no one to back you up.” The first time they went there, they went together, because it could be dangerous. “N-not that I’m saying you shouldn’t have gone. Y-you can kiss whoever you want. It’s not my place to… agree or disagree,” he awkwardly finished, trying not to sound judgemental.

The shadow shrugged, and looked away. 

"I've wanted that with you. Kissing. A whole lot more, even." There was a vulnerable tint to his voice, an honest want in it. He didn’t look at them. "But you always made it perfectly clear you wanted a girl, yet you have never outright rejected me, and I remained stuck. You would tell me all sort of things like how I'd never be without a place in this world, because my place would always be next to you, and then you would lean into my space and smile at me, and laugh at my deadpanned jokes even if no one else thought they were funny, and things would be good, for once." There was a small smile on his face, but it quickly faded.

"But then you would jump at every and any opportunity to gawk about a girl, or complain about how you didn't have a girlfriend, complain about how lame it was to be hanging out with some dudes. I'd still stick with you, of course, because of all the good things, and because you weren't being mean or anything. I was just hurting myself with my own feelings, and then I'd wish for them to go away." His voice was really quiet, even if it didn’t sound overly emotional. That Akira had been hurting for long enough to not break that easily under the weight of his own feelings. 

"But they didn't, and I was turning eighteen and nothing happened, but I still kinda wanted for you to be my first. Because I am stupid like that." He gave a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, looking as things are today I think I kind of regret it. I'm thinking of going out and trying some random hookup because, fuck it, who cares, a first time that's not with you might be better than no first time at all.” He mused. “Even if I have thought about romantic first dates, and silly little things. I've wondered how I would feel if I ever got to play video games with you, at the attic, and if you kissed me there, all warm feelings in a place I loved." His gaze was far away, and, all at once, he wasn’t the same Akira they sent away last year. He knew of things they didn’t, and his heart had been crushed in ways they didn’t know about yet. 

He blinked away his own reverie, and kept talking.

"It never happened, and the more I thought about it, the harder it was for me. I didn't date anyone, and came back to a town I couldn't stand anymore. Everything was gone, and when I realised I was dying, I wondered how many things I didn't do because I was just being stupid. Because I couldn't just learn to let things go, for once." He sounded exasperated with himself for a moment, frustrated and without hope, but eventually his expression softened again. 

He got up with a sigh, and approached his best friend. “I know you saw my memories, but… I feel like I really wanted to say it to your face. I wanted to… thank you.” He smiled softly, his voice quiet. "If it wasn't for you, I don't think I'd have come back there, to our first palace. I had a lot going on, and I didn't know Kamoshida. It's not like anyone would fill me in about his abuse either. And, again, if I had been alone I'd have thought I hallucinated the whole thing. I wouldn't even have gotten out alive, since I don't know if I'd have been able to summon Arsene without you trying to save me first." He bit on his lower lip for a while, his gaze far away. After some moments, he seemed to shake himself out of his own thoughts, and pressed on.

"Anyway, you really helped a lot. And I never really thanked you for that. You spent all of your savings in a very expensive model gun and gave it to me. A beautiful tokarev, it was cool and fitted me well. I love it,” he confessed with a half smile. “I stopped using it when we upgraded our weapons, but I kept it in my room, never sold it. I wasn’t arrested with it, so I still have it on me,” he added, hands in his pockets, something unguarded in his expression.

"You kept insisting I took all the money we made in the metaverse, and it was because of that I had the money to buy something for lunch at school, and I was so relieved. I could make it do, with two meals a day, it was much easier than going through the day only with breakfast." he shrugged, and still didn’t look bothered by how hard he had to work to get himself three meals a day. "You always paid attention, and tried to cheer me up, and make me eat, even if that meant piling food in my plate. I was embarrassed about being taken care of, but I ate it all and it was awesome. You pretended you weren’t paying attention, but you knew when I was nervous, and needed some reassurance. When we were ambushed at the casino, and I knew how insane was the stunt I was trying to pull, and my heart was pounding, you made sure you personally handed me the empty suitcase. Then you looked square into my eyes and said you trusted me.” His voice got even quieter, and it was clear how much strength he drew from those small words. He fell silent again.

"C'mon, don't be like that.” Ryuji softly spoke up when Akira seemed to run out of steam. “It's just that y'know? You told me how your guardian was receiving money to take care of you, and how he wasn't very happy with you and stuff, and... well, I know how it is to try to sneak some food when you have a shitty adult ruling over you, so just in case I tried to make you eat. You were scrawny and could use some more meat in your bones either way. it was just a guess, I didn't think much about it." He shrugged, embarrassed. He didn’t think Akira would really pick up on it. “About all the rest, I just… I wasn’t thinking, really. I just thought it was what you needed, and I was happy to do it for you.”

Akira shook his head.

“No one else had cared enough to look. I didn’t even notice, you just did it for me, and never expected a single word of gratitude for that.” Akira’s expression was a bit pained. “I can understand you not having feelings for me like that, but at least trust what I say when I say I do.”

“Hold on. You sure? Cuz, y’know… you shouldn’t be falling in love with people because they show you some basic consideration.” Ryuji carefully asked, trying to reign in the hope in his chest. He didn’t want Akira feeling like he owed him anything. Being treated right shouldn’t be enough to warrant anyone’s love. 

Akira gently shook his head again. 

“It’s not like I began to have feelings for you because of that. Like, I received kindness from everyone else, too. We all had some kind of trauma, and we understood each other in some ways because of that, but our friendship was never about just that.” His smile was a bit wary still, like he couldn’t really wrap his head around the fact his feelings were being acknowledged, that someone cared about him getting hurt. He dipped his head slightly, opting to look at the floor.

“I appreciated what you did, because I realised how rare kindness is in this world? Yes. But what really got to me was how… unfiltered I could be around you. You didn’t judge me. You cracked at my jokes, and you’d teach me how to run, and I started to feel free too. I liked how you laugh at things, unrestrained, bright. And, for all everyone else seemed to think I was this kind of untouchable genius sometimes, you’d point out to Makoto how my usual MO was to kick things and hope for the best.”He laughed again, and Ryuji pretended his heart didn't flip inside his chest. He loved when Akira laughed. He almost missed when the shadow started talking again, eyes still alight with humour.

“I felt seen, and it was nice. I’ve always appreciated how I had never to try hard to be with you. You’d accept me even when I had nothing to offer, when I hadn’t learned any useful skill. You’d like me even if I wasn’t the most charming, or the most courageous, or even if I hadn’t been that good with consoling people, and it made me want to try harder anyway.”

His smile dimmed a little, in favour of a more serious expression in his face. 

“I think what really pulled me in was your honesty,” he quietly confessed. “You had been through some horrible stuff, but you kept honest. You didn't become a liar like me. I don't think I could feel comfortable around someone I know can or will try to lie. It puts me on edge.” He nervously wrung his hands together, rubbing at his palms, a bit anxious. ”I'm always analyzing people and trying to find the right answer. When I know they're hiding things, it gives me really bad anxiety. I hate the feeling of walking on eggshells.”

He sighed, and his eyes found his best friend’s. 

“You always made it easy for me to say whatever I wanted, even if it was a bad joke. Even when it was a bit in bad taste, like that time when we were found by Akechi, right before the Medjed incident, and I told right to his face that you were a phantom thief, just because I’m a little shit and thought it was funny. You never gave me a hard time for it, even if it was a bit dangerous.” Ryuji stifled a laugh, trying not to incentive Akira on his bullshit, but they both knew it was useless. Akira smiled. “You didn't care if I was good at something or not. We'd play games we both liked, and we'd go out to eat something cheap and filling, and it was comfortable. For all you were an athlete, you never competed with me, and it was soothing.” 

Ryuji bit on his lower lip, overwhelmed by all those nice words. He wasn’t really used to people picking up all the small things he did when he cared for someone. And he sure as hell wasn’t used to hearing about himself in that light, in that gentle and thoughtful wording. Akira was so articulated. He could explain things in a way that made sense, he could talk about his feelings and make them easier to understand. Ryuji could love him, and do things for him, but explain what he felt? 

So he sat down by Akira on the cold metal surface, and put one hand on the shadow’s shoulder, blushing heavily.

“Ryuji, listen, you don’t have t-”

“Shh! Let me talk, please.” The blond was flushed all the way up to his ears, and he had been trying to find something to say for the past two minutes at least, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly. 

“Like, I have good reasons for falling for you.” Ryuji blushed furiously, frowning, trying to find the right words, for once in his life. Akira’s quiet gasp of surprise distracted him, and he winced. He was so caught up with Akira’s confession, he ended up just blurting out the explanation about why he liked Akira. Without having actually just telling him he liked him. Fuck. Well, too late now. He knew he wasn’t good at talking about his feelings, and he didn’t like planning too much before talking to Akira. It felt good not worrying, and just being honest. Even if honesty sometimes cost him some articulation. Damn. He should have trained his confession, but it was too late now. He firmly pressed on. 

“I think you’re funny, and I love talking to you and spending time with you, and… Well, you’re cute. But also very hot.” He scowled, as if Akira was cute and attractive just to make his life difficult. It sure felt like that sometimes. “And, like, you’re already my best friend, things just got complicated for me cuz you’re a cute bastard and you have this this… this stupid little smile that makes people goes all weak on their knees, geez. Very rude of you, man.” He tried for a light tone, huffling his own hair, embarrassed. 

Shadow Akira laughed, not the quiet laugh he had shown before, but the small laugh he had when they talked. His eyes were warm, and his cheeks reddened as he took a moment to really process what his best friend was trying to say. 

“Ryuji... you said you like me too, but… I always thought you were straight? You kept pestering me to go see maids I didn’t want to see, and kept shooting me down when I asked you out to anything even remotely romantic. Even if you didn’t like me back, was there any reason why you kept trying so hard not to be gay? I like to think I don’t act that bygoted?” he asked, second guessing himself, second guessing the confession he just heard. “I-I’m just… confused.”

"Okay, that's on me. Totally my fault." Ryuji sighed, holding his head with both hands, rubbing his face like it would somehow cure his stupidity. 

"I liked what we had, too. And, who would want me and you together? Me, the loser, the dumb friend." He shook his head at Akira’s immediate denial at his words, then took a very deep breath, and tried to put into words everything stuck in his throat after seeing all those memories. “Ugh. And sorry, I really owe you an explanation about… well how I acted around you. I-it’s just a long and boring story, but I guess I really should tell you, so… Ok. I can do it. I totally can. So…” 

He bit his lip, and threw a sidewards glance towards the other thieves. 

“Let’s leave them alone for a bit.” Morgana said, starting to head out of the room.

The group bristled, but Haru spoke before any of them could. “It’s true. We haven’t earned his trust, not like this.”

“I-it’s not like that!” Ryuji stuttered, but seemed a bit relieved too.

“It’s okay, Ryuji, you don’t have to say that to comfort us.” Haru smiled at him, starting to usher the rest out of the cell.

“Let’s just go.” Morgana said, looking down. “We… after this, we have to talk about lots of things. But Akira needs us now, and we can talk about other issues later. But we will be talking,” he sheepishly added, leading them out of the room. He had a lot of practice of making himself scarce when the need arrived. 

Only when they were alone, Ryuji let out a breath he had been holding. He always relaxed next to Akira, when it was just the two of them. Of course, all of them were his friends, and he loved them to death, but they weren’t so easy to open up to, sometimes. He felt a bit guilty, he knew they cared about him, it’s just that… they didn’t get him so easily as Akira did. And he didn’t want to get so serious around them, because he had an image of being funny and loud, and… He didn’t know exactly, but he didn’t want to drop that. 

“Can I ask you something?” Akira’s voice eventually broke the silence, after letting it stretch beyond comfortable.

“Sure.”

“Why did you run away from those men at the beach? You know, those two gay friends…” Akira started, before his eyes lit up, as if he just remembered something. “Oh. Also, I think I should tell you now… When I left you behind with them, the first time we went to Shinjuku… This memory isn’t with me, because… I think because it hurt me more knowing I failed you, than it had to do with me being in the closet. But… I can feel it trying to resurge. You should probably check on it next. When you leave here, I mean," he added, a bit sheepishly. "I just wanted to give you a heads up. It won’t really do me any good if you talk to me about that, since the memory is not here, so. But I figured I should tell you that I feel it somewhere.”

“Thanks. For the tip. I’ll keep that in mind.” The blond smiled slightly, before making a face. “Ugh. That’s really embarrassing. Seriously. I should probably tell your other you then, if he’s feeling guilty about it,” he concluded, already worried about having to explain that. It was a good thing he was given the heads up, so he could think about what to say. He wanted to do his best to help out Akira, so he wanted to say something more well thought out than what he was saying at the moment. 

“Okay,” the shadow agreed, softly. He didn’t feel particularly conflicted about that, but he did want to know why Ryuji kept pestering him about girls “So… about you not being straight…?” Akira gently prompted, grey eyes curiously peeking behind dark curls.

Ryuji took a steadying breath, and let it out slowly.

"About that. Yeah. Okay.” He seemed completely lost about where to start. “It’s… There’s kinda a story about it? It’s not a big deal. But… Yeah. Okay. My dad was a scumbag,” he finally settled for that as the beginning. “The shittiest bastard, y'know? I told you how I had blamed him before for me not fitting in, but that I don't think that's true anymore. Everyone deals with shit in life, and good people don't let it rule them." He scowled, but quickly shrugged off his anger, and kept going.

"I've known for some time I'm not... really straight,” he awkwardly added. “I mean, I've known, but I guess I just really started to accept the truth after Captain Kidd. Y'know all that shit about facing your true self? Ripping off the masks and all that? I had to look at me head on and accept my true self. And my true self isn't exactly straight and I've known it for some time." 

He fell silent for a minute, trying to find out how to say it.

"I don't think... 's a trauma or stuff like it, but..." 

His words died out, and he took a moment to look at Akira’s face. The firm realisation that he trusted that person with everything he had made it easier for the words to come out.

"I'm clueless 'bout lots of things but... no one is that stupid. Why do you think I went to the red light district with you dressed in my uniform like it wasn't a big deal? Who'd have thought no one would care if a kid was at a red light district? I've been to... well." he sighed deeply, and he only noticed his hands were shaking because Akira was holding one of them, squeezing a little to stop the trembling, listening patiently. 

Because no matter what version of Akira you drew, he’d always be patient, and gentle with other people’s emotions, even if he was hurting so much inside. 

It made Ryuji want to press on and tell him the truth, to be brutally honest and bare even his most pathetic sides to him. 

"I think I was thirteen? Anyway, the old bastard was old fashioned and he... er... that's awkward, but I guess we're seeing some deep stuff about you, so, fair's fair,” he mumbled, still struggling with the words.

"One of the few things he liked about me was that I was a man. His son, ready to be an asshole like him, to think he was better cuz he wasn't some woman,” he almost sneered out the words, evidently disgusted. “Ok, so." He ran a hand on the back of his own neck, at a loss of words. 

Akira knew that type of silence, that came when you tried to talk about something you never ever said to anyone. And because his shadows were all him, that Akira was patient and a good listener, so he waited until Ryuji found the words he needed.

"He took me to see a whore," the blond mumbled out the words, small and uncomfortable. "Is that the right word? It's the only one I really heard,” he chewed on his lower lip for a bit. “Anyway. It was my birthday and he said we had to commemorate that I was becoming a real man and stuff, so he... said he'd give me what any man would like to get for his birthday. I was obviously a kid, but the adults there didn't care, and he got a woman for me. Locked me in a room with a complete stranger and I shoulda been happy about it,” he sighed, exasperated. 

"Thing is, I guess at the worst kind of places you sometimes find the kindest people, y'know?" Kind of like how he found Akira, he wondered. "I-it’s… It was weird,” he concluded, lamely. He seemed at war with himself, trying to be honest, but also trying not to sound like he was making a big deal out of something unimportant. 

“That woman at that time took the time to talk to me, probably cuz I started to cry like a loser when she… well, when she started touching me?” his voice went slightly higher, and he blushed. “I mean. I don’t know why I freaked out. But I kinda did. So she stopped. And... well, she pretty much listened. And asked me really gently if I didn't like girls. I told her I looked at some boys and that I was kinda confused. Cuz mom didn't want me to tell her that stuff. Probably cuz dad could hear someday, but what if it was a bad thing after all and couldn't she teach me a way to not be gay?" he blurted out in a rush, sounding unusually uncertain.

"Well, then told me she ended up with that job after being thrown out of her home, because she was a lesbian,” his voice cracked a little. “Warned me about how being out of the closet wasn’t the smartest decision she ever made in life, and, if my dad was that much of an asshole, I should never, ever let him know.” He took a very deep breath, something in him still afraid of the very idea. “She was really cool about it, told me there was nothing wrong with me, and promised to tell dad I was a natural with women or something, and everything went well that day. I really wish I could pay her back somehow… I don't know what he'd have done to me if he knew. He had the worst temper, and if someone beats his kid once, they’d do it again a million times. He'd said before he would kill me if I said something at school or to anyone about how I got a bruise or something, and I don't think he was really above killing me in a rage fit for finding out his son was a fag." He huffed a bitter laugh, and it wasn’t that difficult to know from who he heard such a slur.

"But on that day I kinda figured out I wasn't straight, and I had honestly no idea what I was, but me and mom would be in deep shit if someone even breathed a word to dad about it,” he admitted with a scowl. “I've been posing as a disgustingly thirsty heterosexual since then, and it fitted well with my image of good for nothing delinquent when Kamoshida got the title stuck to me." He snorted, self deprecatingly. 

"It was so over the top sometimes I really wondered how you didn't pick up on it. Even Ann could tell something was up. She didn't even get angry at me for saying she was hot at the beach, and just rolled her eyes and poked fun at me." He paused, looking thoughtful.

"I think when you're that popular you kinda know when people are into you and when they're not. It’s… well, she eventually noticed how I wasn’t really into her, and then we started talking, and we came out to each other,” he admitted, softly. “Yeah, cuz she kinda figured out she liked Shiho. And that Shiho had confessed to her, and Ann felt like shit for not having answered it back then. And then Shiho was moving away, and I heard the rumors about you dating Makoto, and… Yeah. Worst time ever.” His laughter was hollow, and Akira’s shadow knew enough of pain to know how hurt his best friend had been by the rumors. The shadow looked unbearably sad, but let his friend continue.

"Anyway… that just made me be even more careful not to out myself, but I’ve made the decision to stay in the closet way back. The first time I told mom something slightly non straight, she told me to never, ever, say anything to dad. She was so scared, she didn't want me to be gay and I knew it right then that it would make things worse for her, and-" he had to stop again, voice thick with fear. 

"I know what you meant, y'know? I think I'd do anything for her, and to not have to see her crying again, as I did when... when I broke my leg and lost every chance of a scholarship and everything." He fell silent again, considering his own words. He never brought it up again with his mom, and he didn’t know what she’d tell him now his father was gone. He tried not to think about it, still so angry about Kamoshida, and his ruined leg. Then, there was the new transfer student, and his life went upside down.

"When I did put that thing about my leg behind, with your help, I was having a blast at having you as a friend, and like... so what if I thought you're cute? I could lean all over you, and be touchy, and always call dibs on sharing a room with you, or sitting by your side wherever we went, and it wouldn't be weird, y'know?” he smiled, a little bashful. “If I just wasn't... if no one knew I was in love with you. And it was a right pain that, cuz I haven't figured out yet if I was bi, and you were the first person I really had feelings for, and you were a boy. And I thought you and Makoto had something going on, honestly. I-I might have asked her, before we went to Shido’s,” he admitted, embarrassed. “The same day when I called you at night out of the blue, and said there was something I wanted to tell you.” He pointedly looked away, and didn’t say how close he had been of just blurting out his feelings then and there, but chickened out. How he tried to convince himself they were just friends.

He was ready to take that secret to his grave, but Akira needed his honesty to not fucking die, and Ryuji would do anything for him. Even come out to all of his friends in an impulse, just so he could make his friend feel better. And not die. No, no, no dying for Akira today. 

"Just so you know, I don’t think it justifies what I’ve done,” he firmly said, staring into his best friend’s eyes. “I’ve hurt you, and I’m really sorry, Aki. Even if I’ve never came out to you, I shouldn’t just assume you were straight, and then made you uncomfortable with all that bullshit I put you through.” He shook his head. “Things don't justify shit. I could've chosen to ignore the bad stuff my shitty old man told me. If I was too much of a coward to tell anyone things I knew about myself, that's on me. I’m just telling you all of what happened because I think you should know, since you’re telling a lot about you But just know I don’t think it justifies what I’ve done. It wasn’t right, it was in bad taste with the girls lots of times, and I’ll try to do better.” Akira blinked at him, wordlessly, and Ryuji bit his lip, deciding to explain himself better.

“I don’t really think there’s, like, good people and evil people. You chose to do right by people, and that’s it. It’s hard, and sometimes life punches you in the face for it, but you do it anyway.” He looked soberly at his best friend. “You could’ve chosen to be horrible, with all the shit going on in your life, but you decided not to. And I think that’s the important thing. One of the reasons I hated Akechi was cuz he always threw in how his dad was a scum and made his mother suffer and then oh everything's good, he's good to go and murder off Haru's dad and Futaba's mom, and who knows how many more people.” He scowled. “All those accidents killed off people who were important to someone. But he went on hating you for being good despite everything. Like, dude could just do the same?” he asked in a slightly high pitched voice, indignant. 

“But no, killing off people is the way to go, and everyone loves him anyway cuz he's smart and has a pretty face and a fake smile. He'd meet up with you and tell how difficult his childhood was, and when we met Shido he never said he regretted killing people. He regretted being caught, and I don't want to think that just because he had a motive, everything he had done was okay. I don't think shitty dads justify making other people's life shit.” He paused, a stormy expression still firmly in place. “'Course, I don't think anyone really deserves to die either, and even back then I thought too he could turn around. But not because of his dad or not. You were abandoned and treated like trash a lot, but it only made you try harder, made you get up and show everyone how there was so much more to life than the way of all those fucked up adults."

Akira looked away for a moment, thinking about what he was hearing. Something appeared to have caught his attention in all of what Ryuji said, because he smiled a bit teasingly.

“You say that, but you were the first to console him when he started screaming at us about how he never felt like he was enough.”

Ryuji shrugged.

“Yeah, because I know how it feels to never feel enough, and to have a shitty dad.”

“He had called you ‘good only for carrying things’, and he always looked down on you,” Akira pointed out, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, I am kind of good only for that?”

Akira’s expression closed off immediately “That’s not true.” he snapped his head to turn and look at the blond, something vicious in his expression. “That’s what I’m getting at, you talk about me, but even _I_ am better at that self preservation thing than you. At least I lie to hide my weakness so people won’t trample down on my feelings?” he was raising his voice, and any pretense of calm had been thrown out of the window. Akira looked positively mad. “You are wide open! I have half a mind of just hiding you away because you. You. Just. Let. People. Hurt. You.” he gritted out the words, teeth clenched. “You- It’s maddening.” he let out a huff, agitated. “He hit right where it hurt, on your self worth, and your knee jerk reaction was to comfort him when he was yelling at us. You claim to hate him, but you can’t, for the life of you, just be mean to people!” he finally yelled out, chest rising and falling with exertion. 

“You wanted me to be mean?” Ryuji asked, alarmed, visibly confused about why Akira looked so angry. 

“That's- that's not the point.” the shadow deflated, shoulders dropping. “It's just… it hurts me too,” he confessed in a small voice. “I don’t know. I feel like I can never protect you back.”

“Hey.” The blond tried, searching for the other boy’s gaze, trying to think of something to do or to say, because Akira sounded upset.

“Makoto was being an asshole to all of us in the beginning, and you still tried to save her by almost being run over by a car!” Akira said, accusingly. “We would never have gotten a cab if you hadn't done it? Yes. But how could you?! Can you stop doing that?” he practically begged, something frail in his angry voice, because someone that important to him didn’t seem to understand people loved him.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Ryuji relented, hands up in surrender, trying to reign in his temper. Okay, in hindsight, he had been reckless, and a bit uncaring about his own safety, he could recognize it. Hearing _Akira_ , of all people saying it, though, was unnerving. The next words came out far more angrily than he had been planning. “But you do the same thing to me! I take my eyes off you one second and you’re doing some self sacrificing shit!” 

“I was just trying to protect all of you!”

“Tough luck, me too!”

“So we have to stop trying to die for each other and maybe, I don't know, live for each other?!” Akira yelled back.

“Fine!” 

“Fine!” 

It took them a second to realise how utterly ridiculous they were being. Ryuji broke first, laughing bright and clear, and Akira’s mouth twitched with a smile he was too stubborn to let it appear. The blond dissolved in giggles just looking at it, and Akira lightly elbowed him, but huffed out a laugh too. 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t realise you got worried. I-I… it’s weird, y’know? Knowing all of this. I never thought you would… like me or something.” He hesitantly said, as if he couldn’t quite understand how someone thought he was something remarkable.

Akira seemed to pick up on that, and he sighed, but his expression was kind.

“Don't you understand? I admire you. People never recognize you, and they spit on you but you never bend. You believe in what is good and you keep doing it, and you never look back. I do it too, but I'm always second guessing, wondering, while you, you just do it.” His half smile was amazed, and soft. “You almost got run over by a car for a girl who wanted you arrested and looked down on you for your reputation and your grades, you helped the track team when they had all abandoned you, you tried to console Akechi when he had done nothing but to insult you and try to get all of us arrested.” He listed off in one shot, easily, like he could keep that up all day. He could.

“And you never bring it up. You let people say you're dumb and you let them beat you up, and you keep good. You help people because it’s the right thing to do, and you don’t give a single fuck if they appreciate you for it. You do it for yourself, because you refuse to fucking compromise, and I’m the same.” His voice was firm, but warm. “When I’m at my best, I’m that person too. Every time someone tried to bribe me with something, I always refused on principle. I don’t give a fuck either if people will even recognize me. I was arrested again by Sae, because no one would let a phantom thief be the hero, and it was fine by me. Whatever. I'll do what I believe it's right, and I won’t bow to anyone.” His eyes were fierce, his voice this bit deeper, and it wasn’t difficult to see Joker in him. “I’ll do what I believe in, even if the public rails at us.” He shrugged, and his posture relaxed a little. “But you do it in your daily life too. You just help. You risk yourself, and you keep helping, and no one sees it, but you do it for yourself, and I respect that. You keep honest, even if people could hurt you. I admire you. You inspire me. With you by my side I feel like I too can keep good, and do anything I want.”

And maybe that was it. Akira wouldn’t take advantage of the openings Ryuji left, he wouldn't strike him where he knew it would hurt. He’d see all the tender spots, and he’d be scared for him, and he’d just try harder to protect his best friend at all costs. Akira was the type that wanted to protect, that needed to do it. 

And Ryuji was honest, even if that meant exposing himself, and Akira could finally rely on something steady, he could start to trust again. He could be taken care of, for a change. He could feel accepted, and safe, and he could just not say anything, and Ryuji would still try to help, and never make it difficult or complicated.

There was a brief silence, both of them immersed in their own thoughts. Akira’s shadow eventually looked up, and stared hesitantly at the blond.

“Do you want me to keep what we talked about a secret? When the others come back, I mean.”

“Maybe? Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“Hey.” 

“It’s just… weird.” Ryuji confessed to the stone floor, not daring to look up. ”Talking about heavy stuff like this, I mean. I always try to be loud, and diffuse the awkwardness, because I hate tense situations, and… But, when I’m with you, I can drop all of that you know? I-it’s… I don’t feel like I have to do it. Nothing bad will happen if I don’t do it. We can just… I don’t know. Be together you know? And it will always be okay? It’s always okay when I’m with you.”

Now thinking back, Ryuji was so calm when they were together. He didn’t seem as agitated, he didn’t raise his voice as much, and he just seemed all around more comfortable in his own skin. That nervous energy around him was gentler, and he was more of a joyful bundle of energy than the reckless, rough, loud and almost anxious mass of energy he tended to be around other people. 

It wasn’t like before, when he had been the lonely outcast in school, when all of him seemed muffled, watered down to a silent rage. No, when they were together, he just didn’t feel the need to be loud, and handle all of the tension in the room bringing up some joke or anything. 

It fell into place suddenly, and Akira’s expression was impossibly soft when he finally understood. Ryuji had told him how often his parents fought. How those fights escalated, and how that turned into physical violence, but the pieces didn’t fall into place until then. Just at that very moment, Akira could understand, and see him, a child trying to navigate through the adult’s moods, trying to make it better so things wouldn’t get ugly and scary. 

Akira had done the same, in a very different way. He read people’s mood like people could read books, and he adjusted his answers and his demeanor to exactly what was needed. He knew how to push down his own feelings, and just get through a situation. No one really sharpened those kinds of skills to that degree of perfection, and used them almost like second nature, if they hadn’t learned it was an absolute necessity. Akira did, and he survived.

Ryuji had done the same, using a different approach. He made himself a bigger target. He had someone to protect, and he learned how to do it. Even if he ended up starting a fight, he would be the only target from the inevitable anger and violence, and it was so much better than being the terrified spectator. So much better than seeing a terrible thing happening to someone, and do nothing. He was loud, because some silences were dangerous, and it made him anxious. He talked too much, as if that could stop other people from saying things they would regret. From saying dangerous things, that could make everything turn on its head, and things would be scary and not good. 

It was a privilege, really, to find that Ryuji felt safe in their silences. To know they had carved a small safe place for them, in which touching wasn’t painful, in which they didn’t really have to hide themselves, in which they could just be, and neither silence nor words meant punishment. 

Akira looked him in the eye.

“I understand.” And Ryuji could tell that he did. Akira understood, and it was a blessing, because Ryuji was a mess with words. The blond reached for his best friend’s hand, and held it. Akira gave him a small squeeze back, and they enjoyed their space for a bit. The touch was reassuring for both, and the silence was safe too. 

Shadow Akira was still Akira, and he felt something loosening in his chest. It was so much easier to breathe when he had that small grounding touch from his best friend. It felt a bit like a lifeline, and he focused on it, focused on the warm hand on his, on the warm thumb rubbing circles on the back of his cold hand. 

Ryuji cradled his head with his other hand, gently bringing him closer, until their foreheads touched. They shared that small space, and it was comforting, living in that small intimacy, in the warmth of their shared breaths. When Ryuji spoke up, he did it in a barely there voice.

"You were everything I could ask for a friend, and I wanted to do right by ya, and be the best friend I could think of. But I'm stupid, and things ended up like this. I'm sorry." 

Akira shook his head slightly, closing his eyes. “I was confused too. It might not have worked out, back then. I needed to do a lot of growing up before I could really be trusted with this.”

“Me too, I think. I was just… I don’t know, messing around the whole year, no goal, no nothing. Now I want things, and… I don’t feel like I don’t deserve you, I guess. I mean… I kinda thought about it for a while, but. I like my new plans. I felt good deciding to go on with physiotherapy, and having goals, and all of that. I… Now I know how you felt, and… I dunno, I kinda realised how stupid it is, to… think I can be the one to tell you what you should want. You like being with me, and I like being with you. Maybe it’s simple like that.”

“You’re right.” Ryuji heard his smile more than saw it, for how close they were. Neither of them moved. Akira kept talking. “I’m… still figuring out a lot of things, but… I’m not the mess I was last year. After that breakthrough, I got back on track. I started thinking, really trying to figure myself out, and not… you know, shaming myself, attacking myself with my own words. I just wanted to know, to understand who I was, and… when I dedicated myself to it, things became clearer.” His voice was getting lighter, as if he had pulled out many things that had been poisoning him. 

“I can’t say I know one hundred percent what I am, but I’m comfortable with myself. I needed to experiment for a bit, and, probably, freak out for a while, so I could get to where I am now. I don’t know if there’s words to what I am, but I know lots of things now. I know I’m attracted to men, and women. I know I’m in love with you. I don’t know if it means I’m bi, I don’t know if I’ll end up figuring out better words for what I am and what I feel, but… I’m trying, and I already understand myself so much better. I think it means something, that. I don’t feel as desperate, and I know now I can be responsible with someone else’s feelings.”

The blond smiled, quiet for a moment, looking at their joined hands.

“Yeah. Me too. I mean, I had been struggling with it longer than you, so. I guess it makes sense. A-and we can figure out things together. Just promise me you’ll tell me if something bothers you,” he asked, closing his eyes for a moment. “I won’t be mad, I’m just not the best at reading the mood sometimes, and… It’s hard for me if I get worried about, y’know… reading it wrong. And then I’ll spend our whole time together worrying that I didn’t see something that was hurting you. It’s… It sucks so much knowing you were suffering like this and I didn’t see.” He took a deep breath, pulling away to look at attentive grey eyes. “If I can’t be sure you’ll be trying to talk to me about it, I think I’ll be all tense when we meet again, and… I don’t want that. I really like how comfortable we are with each other. I like that you felt comfortable too. Just… try and talk to me?”

“I will.” Akira’s voice was quiet, but he sounded committed. “It’s… I never really tried not to talk to you about what was troubling me. Like… Except the whole being in love with you thing, I would have talked to you. It’s just that… I don’t know. I didn’t really know how to bring it up.” He shrugged, readjusting his hand so their fingers could entwine. 

“Yeah, about that, I was wrong too. I mean, I didn’t ask you what was going on, when I knew something was wrong. You opened up to me about your arrest, when I asked. I knew you aren’t the type to complain, so you wouldn’t bring up those things. But if I had asked you’d talk to me. At least that’s how things have always been for us.” The blond shrugged too, seemingly a bit embarrassed. 

“I’ll talk to you. And you talk to me, as well,” he offered, a small smile in his face as he saw the blond nodding. “You’re still my best friend, and I like how easy it is to be with you. I like your honesty”

Ryuji squeezed his hand, and relished in the feeling of safety it gave him. 

“I should call them back.” The blond said, getting up with a firm determination in his eyes, eager to finish this and go get real life Akira to hear him out.

Shadow Akira nodded, standing up as well, apparently too agitated to keep sitting down.

The other thieves quietly made their way inside the cell again. Ann stood in front of them, and, with a steadying breath, she looked at Akira’s shadow. 

“We are happy that you’re figuring yourself out. And we want you to know we’re on your side.” Her gaze was fiery, and brave, even if her words trembled slightly. “I’m gay too. Figured I wanted to tell you that too,” she added impulsively, and smiled gently. “We were talking outside and… lots of us are still figuring ourselves out, and that's okay. We will be here for each other. You're not alone in this.” Her chin was held high, and Akira smiled at her. She was fierce, courageous, and proud. Somehow, just seeing it made him feel more at ease. 

He let out a sigh, and the small smile in his face didn’t falter. He really just needed to tell them. Even if everything went to hell, even if they weren’t amazing people, accepting of him, he just needed to stop feeling like an impostor. 

Of course, he was good at adapting, and he truly enjoyed talking to them about all of their particular interests, because he was the pure definition of Jack of all trades when it came to his interests and abilities. But he wanted them to know more about himself. He wanted to stop feeling like he had to hide. 

Having their unwavering support, and Ryuji reciprocating his feelings was so much more than he had bargained for, he didn’t even know what to do. He had never allowed himself to even entertain that notion, because expectations hurt. 

“Thank you. I-I didn’t… I never even thought what I’d do if you all accepted me.” He huffed a laugh. “I just wanted you to know. All of these secrets were killing me, but I didn’t know how to bring it up,” he admitted. 

“Thank you, for listening to me.” His next smile was open and sincere, unburdened by all the weight he had been carrying. 

Shadow Akira started to fade, his silhouette getting blurrier, and difficult to discern. 

He seemed to make a decision in half a heartbeat, and he turned to Ryuji, cheeky mischief in his eyes. Ryuji knew him enough to know that look meant trouble. But he also was a sucker for Akira’s playful smiles, so he didn’t try to stop him from whatever evil plan he had. He did brace himself a bit. 

And was still caught off guard by the small peck he received on his cheek.

“H-hey!” He felt himself blush up to his ears, one hand on his own cheek as if he could physically feel the kiss searing into his skin. Soft lips, tender contact, Akira’s nose pressing down on his cheek, letting the kiss linger, letting the blond know how very tender his best friend’s affection could be. 

And then, the sensation was gone, and Ryuji desperately wanted it back. 

Akira’s lips curled into a playful thing, amused, happy, free and daring. Ryuji looked at it, and ignored the cooing sounds Haru was making. Akira, the little shit, disappeared on him, and left him to deal with the team after their little show. Smug bastard. Show off. He was so getting back to him. 

Ryuji pointedly ignored Yusuke’s manic grin that told him exactly how many paintings one could make about tender love, and he ignored Mona’s know-it-all smirk that told him exactly how subtle Akira really was when reading his texts or something. He firmly ignored Futaba’s teasing grin as well, and Makoto’s encouraging, albeit awkward little smile. He had been around her long enough to know she was just waiting to corner him when there wasn’t anyone nearby and lecture him about safe sex. He very quickly determined his top priority now was not being alone with her so soon, or risk dying of embarrassment. 

He turned to look at Ann, because she was the closest to him, barring Akira in some sense, and she did know about his feelings beforehand. 

She had her arms crossed, and a very well maintained eyebrow up, a smug smile in her face.

“This was kind of a train wreck of a confession from both of you, but that’s cute, I guess.”

“You should really just ask Shiho out, you know.” He smiled at her, because his chest was bursting with happiness, and he wanted her to be happy to. He was this kind of person.

“You came to me for advice because of your gay crush! How are you giving me relationship advice?” She narrowed her eyes at him, indignantly, but fondly. 

“Well, I did land myself Akira, didn’t I?” Ryuji smugly smiled at her.

“Ugh! I’m so mad but you have a point.”

He barked out a laugh, and things finally, finally started to feel okay. Tension bled out of him, and he breathed in the fact that his friends _knew_ and everything was alright. Akira liked him back. Their friends didn’t mind. His father was gone. He had people who accepted them. Everything was alright, for once. 

They headed out of the cell feeling their hearts this bit lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we finally finished this cell! Just so we are clear, I’m not bashing Akechi on this one. But Ryuji claims to hate him every time he can, and I wanted to explore that, like, yes, you hate him, but why? Everyone says he's so much like Akira, and Ryuji adores Akira, so why? And, how do you hate him? Because how you act to people you hate kinda tells alot about yourself. And I’d like of course to explore Akira's take on it, so here we are. I think Ryuji wouldn’t take so well Akechi’s excuses. Like, his father abused him, Futaba was abused too, orphaned and let in the hands of people who abused her, and she never used it as an excuse. In fact, she acknowledged it as her being lazy, complacent in her pain, letting people suffer. What I do think it's interesting is how Ryuji hates him to hell and back, but he's never mean about it. I think that's a bit why Akira would feel protective about him. 
> 
> BUT. I should note that this topic is not over yet. I still haven’t covered how Ryuji can hate someone everyone says it’s so similar to Akira. I just started on it with this shadow, but it will come up again. In this one we just talked about why I think Ryuji’s not one for excusing himself for the things he did because of some trauma in his past. He always says how he blamed his dad before, but doesn’t do that anymore, and I think it fits nicely with how he can hate Akechi, even after everything in the game points out that ‘he had reasons, you should forgive him’. He's the only thief who express aloud his dislike for the detective, so I think it's safe to say he feels very strongly about it.
> 
> Oh, also, I should note that they’re not being that accurate with the terms they’re using. I’m using ‘straight’ instead of cithet, for example, because I don’t think they’re quite there in understanding of the terms, and the community. When you’re really starting to figure your own identity out, there’s a lot of fumbling to know what names mean what. I don’t think at this point Akira would know or would have heard of genderfluid, or nonbinary. He would know how he feels, but I don’t think he’d be quite there with all the right words and etc. Also, about the harem route, I also think polyamorous thieves are great and I can totally see it, but I didn’t put him thinking about it because I don’t think he would have known of that dynamic being just 16, closeted, conservative society, etc. 
> 
> About Ryuji’s backstory, it was entirely based on someone I knew who reminds me of him. Maybe it’s a bit recurrent how violent men, who think they own their kids and wife, tends to be misogynists as hell. And they tend to think boys should always be up for sex, and that’s it’s shameful for them to be virgins. And that somehow early teenage years already counts as being a man. It was just familiar how Ryuji acted, trying so hard to sound manly and heterossexual, and not really understanding of what’s appropriate for people their age. There’s such a clear rift between what he shows everyone, and what he does when no one is looking. He shyly gives Akira chocolates, and he loans money just to buy a souvenir for his mom, but always when no one is looking, when he thinks no one will know. He never allows himself to be sweet and romantic when he’s with Mishima as well. When it’s ‘the boys’s group’ he acts very differently, always trying to hit on any girl that shows up, trying to sound tough and manly. But he feels free when he’s talking with Akira, which means that’s when he’s not forcing himself to be loud and tough all the time, so, by that logic, he feels restrained by his own facade of ‘I’m perfectly heterossexual, not a single drop of queerness here, nor sappy feelings cuz that’s for girls’. 
> 
> Anyway thank you so much for reading, and for all the comments and kudos!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dears, terribly sorry for the delay. To make it up with you, this chapter has precisely double the size of a normal chapter! Sit tight, take a beverage, don't rush, because it is quite long. Many, many thanks for the reviews and kudos. 
> 
> Also, a very special thanks to TheBlueHedgeroo for your well wishes, you're really kind.

The group walked in a relatively comfortable silence for a while, all of them enjoying having had a successful conversation with various shadows now. It was oddly rewarding getting to know Akira like this. It wasn’t… surprising, exactly. There was always something about him, in the slum of his shoulders, the quietness of his voice, that seemed to scream loneliness. They knew he was kind, and how strict he was with himself. They knew he cared, and he tried to do the right thing, even if his sense of justice didn’t have a thing to do with the whole ‘everyone thinks that way, so you should low your head and be herded like a convenient little sheep’. 

But seeing his memories, and knowing how deeply he felt about everything, knowing all of what they already knew about their friend, it was a bit like putting together parts of a puzzle. They understood better why he was how he was. And they cared even more for him, they felt even strongly for their friend. 

And, somehow, they felt even strongly about their little group. This journey was different from everything else they had experienced as thieves, and they felt closer to each other. More open. It was easier to brave the eerie velvet room, and ignore how loud the alarm sounded outside the cells. 

Ryuji startled them out of their thoughts, eventually, to talk to Ann.

“So… You came out to everyone too? When?” he asked, remembering how when she dropped in that she was gay to Akira, no one else seemed surprised.

She gave him a teasing smile.

“When you guys were alone and smooching?” 

“We weren’t!” Ryuji hotly protested, going red up to his ears. And feeling just a little bit regretful about the fact he hadn’t even touched Akira’s lips, because they looked really nice when he smiled, and they had to be really soft- wow, better stop that train of thought right there.

“Wait, for how long have you known you liked him?” Makoto suddenly spoke up, frowning. “Did you know it before he did?” she asked, dumbfounded. 

“Er… duh?” Ryuji raised one eyebrow at that. “What?! How dumb do you think I am?”

“Well, Akira hadn’t figured it out yet, and he’s smarter,” she stated, not really measuring how harsh it sounded. She was a bit blunt sometimes, even if she meant well. 

Ryuji rolled his eyes.

“C’monn guys! He’s a nerd and loves to overthink stuff,” he almost whined, not believing someone would even consider Akira would know how to discern his own feelings. “Me? I don’t keep shit bottled up, and I’m not as emotionally stunted as this guy. Aki’s not very aware, y’know? It’s not that hard being faster than him to realize feelings.”

There was a brief silence following that, and he knew everyone was thinking back on everything they saw. They were suddenly in agreement about what he said.

“Besides, shit like feelings if you think too much it gets more complicated? Isn’t that what people say about listening to your heart or whatever?” He sighed, ruffling his own hair. “I think it’s worse for him because he’s too smart, and he over thinks. He can read people like freaking books, if he had followed his guts he’d know I was into him like since may at least. I can’t read people that well, so it's not my fault that one.” He frowned, and tried not to think of all the missed opportunities they had. Well, he was sure he was being obvious, while Akira was almost impossible to read, so it really wasn’t his fault for not noticing it sooner. “But I know when I have a crush, okay? I’m great with gut feelings.”

“Yeah, it actually makes sense,” Ann acknowledged, patting his shoulder in solidarity. She knew how hard he pined, and she was glad it was, mostly, over.

"Oh,” she exhaled, softly, stopping walking for a moment.

“What is it, Ann?” Yusuke prompted.  
  
"I just remembered something,” she said, faintly, as if the realization had really just dawned on her. "It’s not a big deal, but there was something that had always bugged me. Something Akira said. It was really out of place, not exactly like he’s used to joke I guess? I mean, he tells jokes like someone will tell him 'say something witty!', and he deadpans 'something witty'?" There were a few grunts from the group, no doubtedly remembering some of Akira’s not so brilliant puns. Ryuji stifled a laugh. She allowed herself a groan before continuing.  
  
"Anyway... I remembered back then, when a shadow asked him what power Akira had that it didn't have. He said he had girl power. I honestly thought he was always joking, but... just now, in the memory, he showed us he didn’t want to lie, but he was always telling truths with no context, and half truths…” she trailed off for a moment, before shaking her head to clear it. “And... he's always been pretty accepting and open minded. He didn't go around commenting on Lala's appearance, nor anything. I didn't think it was funny back then, but just thought he was the average boy being a bit of a jerk and making fun of being a girl. But as things progressed, and I got to know him better... it just didn't add up, I guess. Because it wasn't a joke I could see him telling, because... it's not funny if you're not pretty bigoted I guess."  
  
"He was probably gathering our reactions, I guess,” Morgana said, sounding regretful and a bit upset. “If he thought we'd consider that a joke, he probably wouldn't tell us how he felt about his gender. It should have been obvious. He's not... the most masculine guy you'd find out there. It's just a feeling. It has nothing to do with who he's attracted to, or what things he likes to do or wear.” The cat trailed off, trying to explain his gut feeling. It was like he always could know where a target was in mementos, or how he could tell when a treasure was close. “He just feels different."  
  
"Oh. He did say he liked men at one of those negotiations." Ryuji suddenly added.  
  
"How come you remember something so old?" Ann asked, almost unbelieving. Ryuji seemed to forget things quite easily, if the money she lent him years ago was something to go by.   
  
"I-I was curious. Like, if we could be the same, y'know,” he mumbled, kicking a stray pebble. He turned an accusing glare to Ann. “Like you're someone to talk, you totally hated when we fought that weird shadow that looked like a dick." He fired back, deflecting the attention to the original issue, as in him being a pining idiot.  
  
"Yes, I was the only one bothered, I guess that says something about our team at the time, doesn't it?" she fired back.  
  
"Hell, no, it was tiny and very much weird." Ryuji shuddered mockingly at the reminder.  
  
"So you like them big?"  
  
"We shouldn't be having this conversation,” Makoto cut in, a fierce blush in her severe expression. 

Yusuke started asking Ryuji to describe exactly how the shadow looked, and his opinions on personas, and something Freud said, to which Ann conveniently ignored. She knew Yusuke liked to draw disturbing things from the metaverse, but she sure as hell wasn’t contributing to that conversation. Haru put a comforting hand on Makoto’s shoulder, and both were relieved when Mona chipped in and said they should drop the subject because they were on a mission. 

Ann was beyond herself with relief when they found another shadow locked up, sitting casually in a metal cot. Morgana inspected the lock with a sniffing motion, but before he could actually touch it, it fell with a metal sound on the floor. They looked between themselves, and, with a nod, they decided it was as good as any place to continue. 

“Hello,” Makoto tried talking to the shadow, hesitantly. 

He smiled at them, his polite and pleasant smile. 

“Hello. Do you need something?”

“Uh. We wanted to maybe go in and talk?” Ryuji offered.

“Sure,” the shadow easily agreed, making a gesture for them to go in.

They padded inside, standing awkwardly there for a moment. No one said anything.

“So,” Ann eventually said, growing too restless by the silence.

“So.” Akira’s smile was teasing, seemingly amused by their awkwardness.

“Don’t you have memories, or something?” Futaba tentatively asked. 

“I have lots of things,” he said, and it wasn’t really an answer. That Akira was oddly difficult to get through, for all open he seemed.

“And would you show them to us?” Yusuke asked.

“Why?”

“We’ve been over this before, we want to help,” Makoto stated.

“Everything’s fine, though?” The shadow tilted his head slightly.

“Please?” Makoto sighed, clearly starting to get nervous. “We need to help you, so you can disappear, and we can help the others, so things can get better.”

The shadow’s expression was absolutely neutral, almost carefully so.

“You want me to disappear?”

“It’s not like that!” Morgana immediately explained.

“Why should it matter anyway, if I’m here or not?”

“Of course it matters!” Ryuji immediately cut in. “We want you to be happy, and not trapped and hiding!”

The shadow looked at them appraisingly for a moment.

“What do you want from me? And what can you give me in exchange for that?”

Another deal. Akira seemed to have a weird fixation on those things. The group looked between themselves, wondering how to negotiate terms. Joker had been easier, his expectations were more clear cut, and he already knew what he wanted. This shadow was obviously making an exception for them, almost humouring them, rather than really wanting something they could offer. 

Or maybe, that shadow just didn’t really know how to say ‘no’, when asked for something.

“W-well, we always relied on you, so you should be able to rely on us as well?” Ann blurted out, getting only a raised eyebrow from the shadow. He clearly wasn’t seeing how that could be a deal.

Yusuke cleared his throat and followed her cue.

“Yes, we have shared a great deal of stories about ourselves with you, as well as our opinions on various matters.” Yusuke’s voice wasn’t accusing, but Akira knew how much the artist had confided in him, about his childhood, about Madarame as his father figure, about how desperate and lost he felt when even art had seemed to give up on him. “It would stand to reason that you reciprocated it. It would be fair if you paid us back with tales of your own.”

“Yes, that could be our deal!” Morgana piped up, ears going up in excitement at the team’s ability in working together and coming up with solutions. Akira looked thoughtful, and that was encouraging.

He still needed a few moments to actually answer, and even then, he seemed moved more by his sense of justice than any particular want of telling them anything. It was probably a bit not good, but they were desperate, and they really needed to free those shadows or real life Akira was going to die, so they didn’t have time for more sophisticated plans. 

“There's no memory. The problem here is me, I guess.” 

“What are you talking about?” Futaba anxiously asked.

“I don’t… I mean, I don’t know how to deal with the fact that I failed some of you. I don’t know what I can offer so you will stay. And I’m… kinda scared about what my failings tell about me. And kinda scared when the other shoe will drop and you will leave for good.That’s mostly it, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” Futaba tentatively asked.

“You know how easily I got sent over to Tokyo. You know how easily I was sent back home. And maybe that happened because I never really belonged to any of those places.” He paused, thoughtful.

“You mean…how easily your parents abandoned you when you got arrested for the first time?” Makoto made an effort in prompting him to continue.

He let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the wall. 

“I've... thought about it, you know.”

His voice is quiet, and it should sound calm, but it sounded as if he had swallowed a few shards of glass. His smile itself could be made of glass, as fragile as it looked. 

“If I had been outright abandoned by my parents, it would... It would have been a disclosure. I... it would be something done, finished, and I would be able to move on. Someone might adopt me, even if I know there's nothing I could offer to win over foster parents.” 

They wanted so badly to deny his words it ached on their throats, but he was right. By the time he was sent over to that big city, no one wanted him. No one would want to permanently take him. Sojiro barely accepted taking him for a year, and not even into his home.

“But I was stuck, between people that cared about me but not enough to believe in me, and new people, who might come to care for me if I did enough for them, and even so, it would be for one year and I would be alone again.” 

He believed firmly he had to do something for people if he wanted their love back, and they were all suddenly very aware of how much he was willing to give to have a tiny bit of affection back. But his eyes were dry, despite what he was saying, and despite his friend's expectations. He gave a weak smirk at that. 

This Akira didn’t want help for a price he didn’t know. He made deals. If he did enough for someone, they could be nice to him, and he wouldn’t feel as guilty. He wasn’t ready yet to accept someone being nice to him without paying it back somehow. He knew how cruel and selfish people could be, and he swore to himself he’d never ever take any small scrap of kindness for granted. 

But maybe because it was so unusual for him to receive kind words, he felt like they were a very big deal, and so, as much as he tried paying it back, he found himself lacking. And when he found himself lacking, he got anxious, because if he didn’t have something useful to offer, why would they still be friends? 

He kept talking, as if he hadn’t even stopped in the first place.

“Then I had all of you, and I wanted to do right by you. I wanted to be useful, and helpful, and all of those things. I wanted us to be good to each other, while we were together, no matter how much time that would be.”

He fell silent, and his grey eyes fell upon the small cat sitting on the corner. His expression was unbearably sad, and he had to swallow down the lump in his throat. Blue eyes looked back, and he took a deep breath before addressing his companion.

"You were... I regretted so many things about our relationship after I thought you were gone,” he confided, in a small voice. “You just... you have no idea, because I never said it to you."

He looked up, staring at the ceiling, suddenly ashamed of himself. 

"You were there for me. I was so lonely on my first days here I can't even..." he sighed, pulling one knee up and resting his face on it. “During the day, and then at night, at the attic. The city was big and confusing, and I didn't know anyone besides Ryuji, and we'd only be together at school. The rest of the day, and especially at night, I was so lonely it hurt. It was unsettling sleeping all alone in the cafe, and the attic is too big and kind of chilly. There weren't messages on my phone, and no one to talk to the whole day." 

They had seen it, bits and pieces of his new life. How comforting and devastating the silence could be. How heartbreakingly lonely he had felt, but how he wasn’t really sure if he wanted someone to fill the safe but empty spaces he had in his life. 

"And then, you were there.” It sounded simple, but complicated at the same time. “You'd follow me around, and help me think through questions sent my way in class, and to compliment me at how courageous I was when I drank that horrible juice at the station.” They shared a smile, brought together by the memory of familiarity. “You were there for me, when I had a hellish shift at the beef bowl shop, and had outright panicked at seeing how many customers there were. You helped me remember the orders, and you kept talking me through it, because I was really nervous.” He huffed a self conscious laugh, but it wasn’t bitter. If anything, he sounded really grateful. “Even when I didn’t do well, you reassured me that next time we’d do better. You stayed there with me, even if the kitchen had been hot and suffocating, and you had to hide inside my bag. You'd stick with me whole shifts at the convenience store, and you'd help me remember what flowers a customer had asked of me at the flower shop, even if it was boring as hell and you could have been taking a nap or going for a walk. “

“I wouldn’t leave you to suffer that alone,” Mona said, headbutting him in his calves. The shadow smiled softly.

"One of these days, you told me how good I was with that work, and how I was totally in place amongst all those flowers, even if most people thought it wasn't fitting for a boy my age, you said I looked good, and said it could as well be my calling because I was good at delicate work, and you were smiling as you do when you mean something.” His eyes got sadder, and his voice was painfully tender, but he wasn’t crying. “Even when you stayed with me when I was working at Crossroads, you said it was a shame I didn't crossdress and you were just teasing. I laughed because I couldn't imagine myself dressing up like that. But then you said you thought I would look good even if I chose to dress like a girl, and you didn't have your teasing smile, you were smiling like you do when I do something right. It meant the world to me, that reassurance that you wouldn't think less of me even if someday I worked up the courage to tell you I didn't feel like a boy the whole time,” he confessed to the small feline. A smile tugged on his lips, and he kept talking.

“You'd nag me about going to sleep because it wasn't healthy, and you would always tell me to stop making infiltration tools when my fingers hurt from doing it too much, and it was the first time someone had cared enough to say me these things, so I'd never complain to you even if I had wanted to push myself more. It was the first time someone told me my well being could be more important than me showing results, and I didn't quite know what to do to tell you how much that meant to me.” He looked lost, and still unsure about why someone would care to look closer and try to protect him from his own crazy standards. 

"You'd sleep next to me, even if you would have been safer and comfortable on the couch, and I felt cherished in some way that you'd chosen to stay close." He bit his lip, looking away. He needed a moment before he could continue.

"I couldn't do anything on the day you came home late, after snooping around Futaba's room, back when we were trying to get into her palace.” His voice was terribly small. “I would sit on the couch and worry, I'd think of going out and giving up immediately because what if you came back and I missed you? Everything was silent, and my room was horribly lonely again."

At that point, he might have started to take Mona for granted. The companionship, the small jabs they traded, the purring little thing next to him lulling him to sleep. It was different, having a pet. Even if Morgana wasn’t exactly a cat, he wasn’t exactly the same as a human friend. They could be so close, and have a relationship free of so many expectations human interactions tended to have. 

"You came back, and teased me about how I didn't bat an eye at your absence, and I was still shaken up by how used to your presence I was, so I didn't correct you.” His voice was thick with regret. “I didn't tell you how I missed you."

"And then, after I went on that trip to Hawaii, after you stayed back with Futaba… When we fought.” He frowned, something anguish in his expression as he kept firmly looking away. “When you went missing, after running away, there was a hole in my chest, and life wasn't the same without you tagging along with me everywhere I went. My phone had more messages, and I knew people to hang out with, but it wasn't what we had together.” He shrugged, trying to look nonchalantly, but only really managing to appear miserable. “I felt lonely at the attic, and things just weren't fun when I had to do them alone. Even if I read a book, I didn't have anyone to share how it was, and playing games was boring without you there to comment on the boss, or cheer me on at a complicated phase.”

He was silent again for a minute.

“My life felt back how it had been back home, and I realised I never wanted that back.” 

But it would be back to him, no matter how he wished for the contrary. It was just this much more terrible to know in how many ways his hometown was probably tearing him apart now.

His shadow just kept talking, intent on keeping his part of the deal. His grey eyes found Mona again.

“When you... ran away, I was so lost I couldn't even function. I'd sit on that stupid old couch in the attic and wonder where you were, why did you run away. Everything there had marks of you, a pawprint on our work table, scratches under the table the television sat on.” His gaze was far away. “I didn't want to go out, because the only time I had been out without you was when I had just arrived, thrown away like fucking trash and trying to hide from everything.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I told myself I just wanted to be okay on the next day to look for you, but the truth is that I might have been scared of going out all alone. I wondered if you were with someone, and I was hurt that you might have chosen someone else, someone better than this fucking mess." His half smile was still firmly in place.

"When we did find you, and Haru had to be the one to tell us you have been hurt by our words, and when she had been the one to tell you to just be honest with us and admit you wanted to stay..." his voice cracked, and he looked up until he could be certain his words wouldn’t falter again. So he wouldn't look devastated. He was failing quite spectacularly. 

"I wondered why it hadn't been me. How could I have not seen it? You were the only one who was always helping me and keeping me company and never asked for anything in return. I never spent time doing whatever you wanted to do, and I never felt the need to answer exactly what I thought you wanted to hear, like I did with everyone else. And when you did need my help, I didn't do anything. Couldn't stop you from leaving and couldn't make you come back." He buried his head in shaking hands, his voice hoarse from holding back tears.

"On the third day alone at the attic I began wondering if you would leave me too." His voice was muffled, but steady again. "Like people do when they come too close to what I am, like my friends from before, like my parents, I wondered if you had gotten fed up with my stupidity and decided to leave." His voice sounded so vulnerable and small, something made entirely of guilt and of fresh and old wounds. 

"I was too passive, too fucking stupid to see what was in front of me. I let you and Ryuji tear each other apart in an argument because I didn't realise that was an argument. You were always bickering, and I wasn't used to having people around and I just assumed that was normal. I let it happen, and didn't step up like I should have." His words came tumbling down with a vengeance, sharp and accusing, but all of it pointed towards himself. 

Mona pawed his leg, trying to be comforting as he spoke up. 

“It was my fault too, because I didn’t tell anyone I was hurting. I didn’t tell you I was worried about my place in our group. I didn’t tell you I felt replaced by Futaba’s navigation and Makoto’s advice. And, since I didn’t tell you, you couldn’t know. Then you hurt me, and we were all upset and everything went wrong. That’s why we need to talk to each other. We don’t know either when you’re hurting and why. And it really upset us to have hurt you without intending to.”

The shadow stared at Morgana, something seeming to dawn on him. He had always just assumed it was his responsibility to read between the lines, and understand without being told, so he never really put much thought into actually talking. 

Akira looked down, letting the words tumble down without making eye contact with anyone. 

“You did so much with me, for me, I swore I'd never dump so many things on you like I did back then, and that's why I tried my damn best to hide that I wasn't feeling very well for the past months. I'm sorry if I worried you. I know I shouldn’t have done this. This is not how friendship should work. I just… I don’t know. I guess I’ve always known there’s nothing I could do so you would stay my friend, but I wanted to be… better? I wanted to be a good friend, so you wouldn’t regret staying with me.

Oh. That made sense. Akira, the achingly lonely boy who had been abandoned too many times and was so scared of being left behind again. 

“No one gets it right every time, you know?” Mona quietly asked. “You could have done better for us, but we also could have done better for you. That’s why we need to talk, and it’s okay if we mess up a little sometimes. No one expects you to get it right all the time.”

He blinked a few times, considering the words he heard. Yes, he had been wrong then, for not trying to talk it out. But maybe it wasn’t a fatal mistake, maybe it was okay to… mess up, but try again. 

“You’re right. I haven’t considered that.” He had started talking to them because he thought it was fair, but things might not have been what he thought they were. Maybe he shouldn’t be seeing this as a debt, as a heart wrenching thing that only took from him. Because the little cat had a point, and he could only hope to have good and functional relationships if he was willing to talk sometimes, and say what bothered him, and what he expected, why he was upset. It wasn’t so bad letting those complicated feelings out, and trying to do something about it.

It was easier, then, to decide to keep talking. Maybe things weren’t as black and white as he had been thinking, and maybe he didn’t have to never mess up, and maybe people did things because they cared, and he did things back because he cared too, and everything was alright. Relationships weren’t deals, no one really owed no one anything, but everyone had to be responsible, everyone was just putting effort and care, and he was doing the same. 

He should do the same, and actually explain what was bothering him. 

Morgana saw as the grey eyes looking intently at him softened, and the shadow seemed to really get what he just said.

"W-when..." Akira had to stop to try and breathe, hesitating for a second as he looked up and tried to continue. "When you decided to forgive us, after the meeting, you offered to stay with Haru, because you are like that. Throughout all of your pain, even if you had just been kicked against a wall by Haru’s stupid fiancée, and even if you were hurt and upset with us, rightly so, you had worried about her and swallowed your pride to ask us to take her somewhere to rest after her fiancé showed up." He took a deep breath, drawing his knees up and resting his forehead on his kneecaps. 

"To this day, I think Haru saw right through me that day, and it had been ages since someone had looked hard enough to try and see me. After we all talked, and when she was going home, you had offered to stay the night at her house,” he eventually said, not looking up. “She had been shaken up pretty badly, she was the girl, and there were all reasons for her to be comforted by someone, for her to take up your offer. But... I think she looked at me, and she knew I wouldn't hold up if you chose to leave me alone again.” He sighed, looking up, and finding Haru’s kind face. “She said your place was right where you were, probably because she's too kind for her own good.” 

They shared a smile too, a knowing one, because they understood each other on this. Both had the terrible talent of holding their own pain close, putting it away neatly and caring for other people with kind words and tender hands. Her sense of justice was close to his in this, as in how she would let herself suffer if someone else needed help more. Her heart was similar to his in this, as in how she cared so damn much for her friends she always tried to help them, even in mourning, even if inside she burned with rage. She was unbearably gentle with her friends, knowing when they needed it. 

She would have liked not to be alone in her home, right after she was assaulted by that horrible older man her fiancee was, but she wouldn’t take Mona away from Akira, not when she could look at him and know how much he needed someone with him at the moment. Not when she could tell, even if she hadn’t known him for more than a few hours, that he was a misstep away from falling apart if he had to go back alone. 

The shadow nodded to her, and she knew it was gratitude. She smiled a bit wider at him, because, really, he was welcome any time.

Akira turned his gaze back to his small feline companion.

“That night, you slept on my chest, and I let you, even if it was heavy and I couldn't breath, because somehow I felt like if you moved away I would suffocate. I was a right mess then, and I wished I could have explained it to you, but you were back, and you were going to school with me again, and you helped me through the questions, making witty comments beneath the table, and things were good. Words never helped me, so I never tried bringing it up again."

He looked up, thoughtful.

"It just... It just made sense I guess, that you'd leave me. I had proven through and through that I was a horrible leader, all stupid plans like Makoto pointed out on day one, couldn't handle the group and keep us together. I only became the leader because Ann and Ryuji hadn't wanted it then, and you thought I was special or something and you trusted me with something I wasn't capable of doing right. And if that was the only problem, it would still be fine. But I wanted to do it right by all of you, I wanted to protect you, but no matter how good I was, our enemies were far more powerful, and I… The only thing I could do was…” he trailed off for a moment, before finishing his sentence softly. “What I could do for all of you was putting my own life in the line, and be the face of the threat our group was seen as, so they would hurt me, the leader. So, if anything went wrong, I would be the only casualty.” 

They needed a whole minute to understand what he meant by that. When it finally clicked together, and when they remembered how easily he had agreed on their plans about the casino, dread made their guts lurch.

“Why would you even think of dying for us?!” Futaba almost shrieked, voice trembling all over. “Y-you… you told me it would be okay. You promised.”

The shadow didn’t answer, but he looked guilty. He had never told them how easily it felt to risk everything for their team. He didn’t know how to explain how easy it was to protect them at the cost of his own life. It was… He just felt like it was fair. He was their leader, and they were already doing so much by standing by his side in his insane goal of reforming society. Why wouldn’t he risk everything for people like that? He wanted them to live, because they were good people, they mattered so much, and the world needed more of that kind of people, who would do the right thing, and stop turning away from other people’s suffering.

But that shadow was too consumed by guilt to be able to explain itself, and its reasoning. He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t answer.

Ryuji sighed, and squatted down, his sight blurring and readjusting when warm tears fell on the dark floor. 

"I can't blame him." 

"You never can." Ann’s voice sounded, but it was more resigned than angry.

He laughed at that, because he'd smile at them when everything seemed too dark. And because it was true. 

"It's true, but... It's just that I get it. I get him. I mean, I think I got that when we were back at Shido's. I can be stupid, but I'm an athlete, I know what's possible to do and what's not. There was no way I'd be able to get to the boat and come back." He heard the sharp inhale of breath several of his teammates took. They hadn’t known he had a gut feeling he wouldn’t survive at that time. He didn’t exactly lie when he said he wasn’t intending to die, he really didn’t think things through, but, deep down, almost as a second thought, he had known he wouldn’t make it. Him escaping with his life was dumb luck, and he knew it. "No one's that fast, and I'm kind of a cripple. I knew I wasn't going to make it back, but I honestly thought y'all would do good without me. I just had to do this one thing, and maybe dying didn't even hurt, and..." 

But that wasn’t the point he was trying to make, so he ignored their shocked looks and kept going.

"He's right, I tried to save him back then, at Kamoshida’s, cuz it was the right thing to do, but all the times after that, it was cuz he was too good to die, y'know?” he looked up, still squatting down. “I would trade my life for his because I believed he was my best friend and he would do good without me. I never really thought about being missed, because there were so many better people, Makoto and, hell, even Akechi were so intelligent and shit, Futaba is a genius as well as Yusuke, Haru and Ann had so many talents, and even Mona knew so much and could help you guys in the metaverse by knowing where shit were, how close we were to a target or something. So, yeah. I never thought what he would feel, cuz it didn't matter. I just couldn't stand to think about a world without him on it, and I'd have done anything to save him. I’d have done anything to save all of you, no hesitation." 

"You always do." He startled when he heard the voice of the prisoner behind them, his eyes dark but with a soft look on them. 

"It's unfair how no one really has a kind word to say about you, even among us. You're always kind, and very loyal. Even after Akechi betrayed all of us, even after he showed up at Shido’s and didn’t regret anything he did… Even by the end, everyone had something nice to say about him.” He paused, considering. “It's unfair how no one ever said something nice about you. We had something good to say about almost anyone, but never something good to say about you. We never really recognized how much you did for us. For me." 

He looked away. It felt unfair. They had nice things to say even about Madarame, who practically murdered Yusuke’s mother. They had wondered about Kaneshiro, and why he would do what he did, if he too was wronged. But all of them were far away people, and they never pondered too much on them. What mattered was that all of the palace rulers had let people die, that they betrayed someone’s trust in a way or another. Most of their targets hadn’t really killed anyone, except Kaneshiro and Shido, as in they ordered people to murder for them, not that they actually had murdered anyone, as far as he knew. But even so, they had never spoken ill of them as much as they did to people inside of their team, and that felt unjustified. There was something wrong in the way their team had worked, and as a leader, he knew it was his fault.

“Our team’s dynamic is all wrong, and I should have done something to fix this.” He cursed under his breath, standing up, restlessly staring at the floor, before turning to Ryuji, guilt etched in every line of his face. "Akechi tried to kill me twice, and you instead tried to save me so many times I lost count. Once when you first met me, then at the Arena in Sae's Palace, when you tried to jump on the fence because of how unfair it was that I had to fight alone with lots of opponents, and then when you saved us all at Shido's. Everyone praised him for how smart he was, and I let him and everyone else call you dumb and stupid, even if you were part of the team at the time, and he wasn’t." He tried to swallow the guilt lodged in his throat.

He was too caught up with the betrayal to see it, so selfishly busy thinking about the whys and what-ifs. His team had needed him and his plans, but he had spent nights wide awake just wondering what Igor could possibly mean that he and Akechi were equals. 

Akira knew how to read people, and it didn’t take a genius to notice how fake the detective acted when he was trying to get on their good side. Akira had been wary in the beginning, hating the lies, the way everything felt like the wrong answer, like a trap. In a way, it was refreshing when every pretence dropped, and a gun barrel to his head was simpler than the never ending game of words. When they confronted him at the cruiser, Akechi looked downright crazy, all murderous intent and greed, spite and envy, and Akira could respect that. It was so less insulting than the sugar coated words. 

It was horribly messy, but it felt liberating in a way, having all the cards on the table, being yelled at and directly attacked. He liked it even better than their chess matches, and cups of coffee drunk together, and all of the times they've hung out, because it had been unnerving the forced politeness and the carefully chosen words. Akechi’s uncontrolled rage, his spiteful hatred, it was so out of control it was actually thrilling. When they offered him a place in their team to take down Shido, Akira found that he wouldn’t mind it terribly, if just Akechi kept being honestly hateful, because it was almost fun, in a twisted and hurtful way, as in gambling with death felt. As in hearing insults that cut deeply into his heart felt almost nice, catering to his self deprecating mind, fueling his self hatred and validating it. 

Even if Akira couldn’t, for the life of him, stop being repulsed by how easily the detective murdered off people, how easily he considered doing it. 

Because Akira had almost been one more unmoving corpse at his feet, and he wondered how it would feel to be murdered and no one even cared. He had taken so many rides on the train as people gossiped about the dead, as people carried on with their lives not even blinking at the news that someone had jumped in front of some trains. At most, someone would curse the unfortunate soul, bothered by the corpse delaying the train more than mourning another life lost to the horror society had come to. A human life just didn’t seem to be worth that much to anyone anymore, and he honestly wondered if the public would stop worshipping the detective if they knew he had killed dozens, if they knew he had personally shot the teenager leader of the Phantom Thieves in the head. 

Probably not. And the public’s cold hearted opinion wasn’t unlike the cruel judicial system. And Akira might be brave, but he had been scared then, at the night of his interrogation, and sometimes he just wondered how odd it was to be on that side of the equation. He had sat down and drank coffee with a murderer, and somehow, distantly, he noticed how no one really thinks about being the victim. When posed with the moral dilemma of killing for their own ends, it was always in the perspective of the one pulling the trigger, and more often than not, people weren’t so opposed to the idea. But how would it feel to be absolutely helpless in front of someone with authority? How would it be to know your death would just serve another powerful and influential old man, and everyone would praise your killer, would praise the wonderful police force, and tell you you deserved it? 

Sometimes, Akira wondered. 

The team had talked about the detective. They had wondered aloud if he was just a victim, if he would turn out to be a really good person if his circumstances had been different. But Akira wasn’t so sure. Maybe, if everything was different, Akechi would still try to be the charming detective, a genius in high school helping out the police, delighting in fooling everyone, murdering people to feel like a God, because he was bored of his perfect life and his perfect grades. Who could tell? Maybe, even the police officers who interrogated him could have been better people if they hadn’t been used by the authorities, exactly as Akechi had been used by Shido. But, did that make what happened to him right? Sometimes Akira didn’t know anymore if that meant he deserved what happened. 

He didn’t believe in fate, not like that. He didn’t think Akechi was doomed to fail, doomed to carry all of that blood in his hands at such a young age if he didn’t want to. In the end, he wanted revenge, and he wanted the glory of it, and that was why he did what he did. Exactly as Akira had done what he had to do to accomplish his goal, no matter how much Lavenza talked about an unfair destiny. Akira had chosen to act, he had opted to take every step on the way. 

A small voice in the back of his head taunted him with icy claws of fear, reminding him how fake Igor had told him he was exactly like the detective. He too would do whatever it takes to get where he wanted. But Akira had cried in his interrogation just at the mere thought of being a murderer. He knew how scared he was of losing it, and killing and abusing people, and manipulating them only to hurt them. He would never do anything like that, because, at every turn, he’d choose to do differently.

He remembered a psychology test Futaba had shown them one afternoon. Countless portraits of people, with one or another physiological condition, and asked them which one frightened them the most. Then she explained how they felt repulsed and scared by those who shared a trait with themselves. She told him how everyone was more afraid of who they would become if they got out of control.

Akira couldn’t forget it. Then he’d try to remind himself how the detective had decided to betray Shido and help them, and he’d conveniently not think on how Akechi had confessed he just didn’t want to go back because he’d have lost the respect he had, everyone would know he was a fake. That he never regretted what he did, that he just didn’t want the consequences of his actions. 

Maybe he tried so hard to redeem Akechi, to try and excuse his behavior, to try and imagine him as just a lost soul, because Akira wanted to believe he couldn’t be similar to someone who wasn’t inherently a good person. He knew he was wrong about something in there, but what?

Was Akira a good person? Would a good person let themselves be sidetracked like that and let their friends tear each other apart? Would a good person let Mona help them in so many ways, just to let everyone plummet his self confidence to the ground? Would a good person let their team be at each other’s throat and not have the courage to speak up? Would a good person let his best friend defend him every time, and never ever return the favour, only letting him be insulted at every turn? 

He just didn’t know what to do with the bone crushing guilt he felt. He turned to his best friend, ready to confess all of his shortcomings.

"I held your selflessness and loyalty close to my heart, and I loved you for them, but I never stood up for you. I let it go, because you didn't seem genuinely bothered by any of it, but it wasn't fair. I just took your friendship for granted." His voice cracked so badly his shadow flickered, almost like they had seen a shadow do when they were in despair. This close to consuming itself in grief. “I’ve always let people beat you up, and I never once said how you deserved so much better.”

He hated opening up like that, hated how panic gripped his guts when he as much as considered exposing his heart like that, to let everyone know exactly where to aim to hurt him the most. But he was lonely, and guilty, and, most of all, he was such a fool, and he still wanted to reach out to people, so he opened his mouth and allowed a very well guarded secret to come out.

“Sometimes I think I’m just as much of an asshole as Akechi was.” He huffed another humourless laugh, but his voice was spread terribly thin, and they could almost feel the lump in his throat. 

"No, no, c'mon, it's not true." The blond reached out for the shadow, because seeing Akira that close to break down crying was not an option. He pulled him close and wrapped his arms around a thin waist, holding tight, trying to pick up the pieces of his friend with his hands, because he wasn’t sure he could do it with words. Akira tucked his head on the curve of his neck, hiding, but his arms came up to hug back. He was so very cold. 

"It's... true that I wish sometimes at least you would say something nice to me, but you usually do, agree with me or cheer me up. I wish we coulda talked about what happened at Shido's, and I wish I'd have done something to stop you from going to the Arena alone like Akechi suggested. I know he probably just wanted to get back at you for being stronger, and it was probably just petty and he didn't really thought you were going down that easily, but it was shitty of him to give the suggestion." He added, and didn’t bother hiding he still held a grudge about that. 

"And anyway. everyone said how you and Akechi were similar, but I didn't really think so.” 

He felt under his fingertips as Akira held his breath, the fluttering heartbeat thundering against his palm. Tense, waiting for his next words. 

“Your circumstances were kinda mirrored or whatever, but you acted completely differently. You were smart, and charming, but you never looked down on anyone because of it. You never looked at me and said I was worthy only of carrying bags for you, cuz you're 'the brains' or anything. You didn't want to kill anyone, never. Not Kamoshida when he was trying to get you arrested and ruined for life, not even Akechi when he showed he was down to shooting you square on your head. You always offered a chance, even if life has always punched you in the face for helping people.” It was almost maddening, but it was true. Akira wasn’t naive, he knew how painful being kind could be, how cynicism wasn’t smarter, it was just more cowardly, because the truly terrifying and brave thing was being kind when you knew it would probably be returned with anger and cruelty. Akira knew it, he lived through hell for each time he reached out with his heart open, but he still tried, he kept doing it, even if it was hard. Ryuji took a deep breath, and continued with a small voice. “You never grew bitter even if your parents left you. You helped that kid at the arcade, wishing he'd have his mom back at home, to give him all the love and attention you never got." 

There was a soft and quiet sound of a sob, and he held on tighter to the boy on his arms. When he felt him trembling too much, he sat them down and pulled him onto his lap. As soon as he did, he felt shy about it, but the weight was comforting and he didn't let go. Fortunately, because that Akira was made more of grief and guilt than anything else, he didn't look particularly embarrassed, face carefully hidden in the shadows of the curve of a neck, clinging to him and to the physical comfort he was offering. 

"You’d have never murdered Futaba’s mom, even if your parents left you, and not ever because you wanted revenge. You looked at that kid and helped him with his mom, even if you’d never have what he had. What really makes a difference is what you chose to do, and that's why I can't really see how you could be similar to Akechi. The only thing you had in common were your situations, but those don't say shit about you. What really does is what you do despite them.” He looked up, comforted by the weight in his lap, at ease to talk about things he normally wouldn’t. “But yeah, even so, and even if I sure as hell disagree with it, everyone went on how you two were similar. How you should be friends cuz how fitting! How Makoto was a better company, how Ann was so pretty and 'oh good you brought a girl here,' said Boss. How upstanding and tough Haru was, and what a keen eye Yusuke had. What a genius Futaba was. Everyone was better, but you still let me sit by your side every time. You kept me close, and you'd smile at me, and tell me jokes you didn't really tell no one else, and I had no idea why. It was already too impressive that you wanted to be friends with me after you met all these other people." 

Yes, he couldn’t deny that all of those words made him feel inadequate, and how much he doubted himself in those days. 

"But it's not like you think. I-I..." there was a lump on his throat, and it was hard not to cry when he heard Akira's soft voice sobbing that quietly, too much so, as if he had known all his life how he had to cry so no one would hear. 

Or as if he didn’t know how crying should sound like anymore. 

The blond desperately avoided the thought. "I got it, y'know? You say you're guilty cuz you didn't recognise me or the bad stuff that happened to me, but you're the same. You're not used to anyone looking at you and fucking acknowledging how much good you do despite of the horrible stuff people throw at you." His temper flared up at the memories of when he found out that the brave boy he met was that brave even after everyone turned on him. How no one had a kind word for him, but how he kept going anyway, never stopping trying to make things better and never complaining.

"I always said how you got it worse than me cuz it drove me crazy how no one acknowledges what you go through. You were beaten black and blue by everyone, but you kept doing good." He was proud of his best friend, but it hurt sometimes, seeing it. "You didn't bat an eye at all the expectations we threw at you, you never blamed us for forcing you to do too much. You took it all on stride, and never once resented us." 

If they were going to talk about their team's dynamics, he sure as hell was going to bring up Akira’s side on the matter, since he was too busy beating himself up to do it.

"You were scared, and you had every reason to be, but you kept going for us, kept studying and working part time jobs and betting everything you had, and didn't mind when everyone took it for granted. You never complained and you never hated us for it. For looking at you and saying how whatever amazing thing you pulled off was expected of you. For taking strength from your confidence and never wondering what you had to do to look like that, and to always give us the very best you had of yourself to offer." 

"How could I hold that against you?" He pulled back a little, looking at the red rimmed eyed boy, who was firmly staring at some point to his side. His eyes were dry, which was odd. Maybe trying to beat himself out of crying altogether was making his shadows behave weird. He tried not to think of the first shadow they saw, crying its heart out before being locked up. "I took you for granted as much as you did to me, and how much you think I held on for you, you did it at least double for me. I'm bad at concentrating, but I'm not stupid. I wouldn't call you my best friend if I didn't feel like you treated me like I was special." 

Akira looked up then, open surprise written in all the beautiful lines of his face, a storm in his dark eyes. 

The blond wondered, with a sinking feeling on his heart, if it was this surprising that he felt special being with him. He wondered if Akira never noticed how good he was to people, how good he was to him. 

The boy on his lap looked down again, but it was thoughtful, introspective. He must have concluded that the blonde's argument was fair, because something in his demeanor lifted, and the room felt warmer.

Ryuji took cold hands in his anyway, because he wasn't confident he could have said anything useful anyway, and maybe if he held Akira really tight he wouldn't have a chance to disappear on him. 

There was a squeeze back, and the hands on his felt a little bit warmer. 

"You stood by me all the time, and you saved me every chance you got.” The blond continued explaining, even if he still didn’t know how to put it into words. “I tried to save you when we first met, but it was you who did save us. You were the first to rip off your mask, and it must've been scary as hell not knowing what was happening, but you did to save someone you didn't even know." The boy in his arms didn't look up, just nuzzling his neck in a gesture too sad to bear, and Ryuji brought a hand up to caress soft black hair, because he wanted to bring comfort, but wasn't confident in doing so with his words. He wasn't good with them. 

"You were with me when I was dealing with the fallout of the track team after Kamoshida was gone, and I'm damn glad you did exactly what you did.” His voice was almost fierce, certainty pouring from every word. “I've never wanted you to stop them from punching me, I've got my pride, and it's not like it even hurt, that's why i offered. I'm stronger than you in the real world and I pack quite a punch if I wanna, I didn't bring you along for a bodyguard, but for support and you damn well supported me all the way.” He held Akira this bit tighter, and tried not to feel scared at how cold the skin under his hands was.

The shadow merely shook its head, and its voice was small and uncertain.

"I thought I understood back then, but I might have been wrong. I could do better." He didn’t look up from the small refuge he found in the curve of his best friend’s neck, clearly too overwhelmed to keep looking at their reactions "I-it's just... I said once before I'd beat them up and I... I think I frightened you,” he confessed in a whisper, feeling as Ryuji tensed, and that was as good as a confirmation to his words. “You laughed it off and reminded me of my record. But... I don't know. I froze back then. If I did punch them, would I remind you of you father? Would you have stayed away from me then? Or if I just let you be punched, would I be just as bad? But I wouldn't have reminded you of anything. And if I... if I took the hits for you, I thought you might not like it at all.” He stopped, hesitant. “But I might've been wrong,” he ended in a defeated whisper. ”I could have done better. It’s no excuse" 

"You did understand, okay?" Ryuji sighed, realising he'd have to say aloud what was an unspoken truth they both knew. Or should know. "I told you how badly I took when dad hit mom and not me. I'd have lost it if you ended up being punched for my problems. It would..." It would have destroyed him in ways he wouldn't be able to get back up. "Just... trust me on this one. I was happy for your support. I would be hurt if you tried to pull some self sacrificing shit on me." 

The boy on his arms shook his head, eyes closed as he confessed his crimes. 

"I let you and Mona tear each other apart. You were everything to me and I let it happen. I didn't notice when he needed me, and everything went badly because of me." 

"You think I mind what Mona says?" The blond scoffed, gaining a side smile from said cat, who was standing right behind the shadow. "Most of the time we're bickering, just to lift the mood.” Akira made an unconvinced noise, and Mona circled them, choosing to stand behind Ryuji, so the shadow could look at him, and gauge his reaction too.

Ryuji kept trying to convince Akira of his point. “That one time things went bad was cuz I didn't know he was feeling insecure about his place in the group, but no one had noticed too, so it ain't like the bickering was the reason behind it all. It was cuz the group changed, new people came along and he began thinking stuff he didn't before." The blond’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and Akira looked at the cat for confirmation.

Bright blue eyes stared back at him, unguarded, and Akira started to think back on their interactions. Ryuji kept talking.

"He never ever talked about my mom, or things he knew I was really sensitive about. He just called me dumb and I called him cat, and none of us really meant it like that. When things were really serious, he never said anything. Even at the very beginning, when I lost my temper and endangered all of you at Kamoshida’s, he just looked serious, and said he understood that I must have a lot going on.”

Akira blinked, remembering the occasion. Yes, indeed they had bickered since day one, but even when Ryuji was being reckless and putting all of them in danger by slamming himself into the front door of the Palace and yelling, Mona hadn’t judged him for it. The cat had looked sad, like he understood something even Akira didn’t at that point, and acknowledged Ryuji must have had a good reason to hate Kamoshida like that. Even Akira had thought it was a dumb move of the blond to start screaming like that, but Mona hadn’t said a thing about it. 

“I can't talk for him, but I think none of us thought it upset you when we discussed. I promise you it's not like that. We are friends, and we trust each other with our lives.” He soothingly rubbed Akira’s back, feeling his heart beating too fast. “Back at Madarame’s he praised me for understanding all that palace things, no sarcasm, even if it did take me longer than everyone else to get it. When we told Makoto about the group, and didn't mention him, he went all ‘hey, don't forget about me!’ And I was the one to say that of course we didn't forget, that he was one of us.”

Akira looked down at the smallish tuxedo cat, and he knew the feline enough to see the soft look in his features. It was true. He just never remembered it because they bickered the loudest, and he had felt so guilty he just deleted everything good he saw happening in the team. But he could see, plain as day, how Mona’s ears perked up at Ryuji’s reminder of all of that, at how the blond had been the one to reassure him he was a part of their team. 

He felt as his best friend took another deep breath to keep talking.

“It's just rare for us to really talk about it. I never really properly apologized for the incident that made him run away. He opened up and said he wanted to stay with us forever and I just went with ‘you should've said it since the start’. And he forgave me, even if I was being immature for yelling at him, and even if I was refusing to assume my blame on that mess. You remember, he was feeling vulnerable at that time and I said some very insensitive things for him when we went to find him in mementos.” It was rare to hear Ryuji talking so seriously, to have him explaining his own feelings like that. “I don't like people buttering me up, and I sure don't want him telling me mushy stuff all the time. But I know he cares a lot. When things went down at Shido’s, he was the last one to leave. He didn't criticize me at all, even if everyone was doing that. He was the most worried about leaving me behind, and he was looking at you all the time, so I think he really just left because he noticed you weren't okay, and you needed him more than me.” Ryuji felt as the shadow tensed in his arms, coiled tight, and he had a feeling that was one more landmine they were going to have to tackle. 

“I’m sorry if we upset you with our mess.” The blond breathed out, trying to solve one thing at a time.

Morgana picked up where he left, looking down, remorseful.

“He's right. We saved each other's lives, you know.” His tail swished in a slow and melancholic motion. “Working together at Kamoshida’s. Even if we started bickering from the get go. I was heartbroken too when I thought he was gone, because he’s my friend, and…” the cat hesitated, because he too wasn’t that good with putting his feelings into words. “I’m not blind, Akira. I know he means a lot to you, and anyone who's important to you is important for me too. And… I mean…” 

Haru took pity on the stuttering cat, and on Akira’s confused expression, and took upon herself to explain the obvious.

“What Mona is trying to say is that both of them were sort of bickering because they were fighting over for your attention, Akira-kun.” Haru smiled gently at the shadow “When you're not there, they get along pretty well. Poking fun at each other without insults, and being sweetly protective of you. They just clash when you're there because they both love you, and are insecure. They end up disputing your attention because they don't think they deserve it.” 

Ryuji felt as Akira looked up sharply at that, his body tense in what was surely shock. He winced slightly. Haru wasn’t wrong, but it was downright shameful hearing it aloud, because it sounded really dumb. 

Morgana looked down, tail moving in anxious movements. 

“It's… true. We started it because he wanted to be your friend, but I was going for that spot too, and that's just how we tick. I’ve told you before too, I don't like being buttered up either.” He shared a half smile with the blond. Ryuji always looked dumbfounded and awkward when he got praised, and Morgana tried to puff his chest and pretend he knew it all along, but they were both so insecure it was painful to watch sometimes. “We don't… deal that well with praises.” It was a bit too close to some truths they very rarely talked about, so he scoffed, and tried for a lighter tone. “We get embarrassed, you know. But of course it's not like that. We're sorry anyway. We didn't know it upset you.” 

The shadow’s eyes were intensely searching Morgana’s, staring and trying to gauge how truthful the words were. He deflated slightly after some moments, and his arms tightened their hold on his best friend’s waist.

“It felt like a fight sometimes. I felt horrible, and didn't know what to do. And it made me really anxious like I had to choose a side, you know?” He rest his forehead against the blond’s shoulder, just so he wouldn’t have to look anyone into their eyes. “But I love you both, and I wanted to keep both of you by my side. When you're not together you are so nice. Mona urged me to go for movies with you, even if I had so many other things to do. And you were so sad when he disappeared in Shibuya. I just couldn't understand why you couldn't be nice in each other's presence.” His voice shook, and it was horrible knowing how upset he was about the whole thing.

“Aki.” Ryuji pulled away just enough to look at his best friend’s face. “We're a team. You don't shoot God in the face by the side of someone you hate.” He tried smiling, and he ignored how everyone was staring at him like they’ve never seen him before. They hadn’t, really, not like this, not this person he usually only allowed himself to be when he was alone with Akira, this Ryuji who talked quieter, who touched gently and who searched his words to bring comfort. He ignored everything else, because Akira still looked shaken, and vulnerable in a way it was too unusual for him, and Ryuji knew him, he knew his best friend, and he could feel how cold his shadows were, and he just had to do something. He lifted a hand, tucking a black curl behind his best friend’s ear. “Seriously. We have our shit figured out.” Akira searched his face, because that was something he always did, but he believed in him, and he didn’t pull away from his touch. It was a bit too much for the blond’s poor heart, so he cracked a smile and tried again for a light tone. “Okay, maybe we should stop overplaying it to lighten the mood.” He huffed a laugh at that. 

“Yeah… “ the cat looked down. “It’s just that… I don’t know, sometimes when things get too much we kinda feel like we should try and lift our spirits I guess. But that’s why all that mess happened, we bickered too much, and the tension rose I guess.”

Futaba immediately shook her head and stopped Morgana from continuing that train of thought.

“No, that's on us. I was the one who told Mona the most he wasn't useful. I took his spot as a navigator, as Makoto had taken his as advisor.” She had been desperate to find Mona because she knew she was the one who had talked the most about how useless he was being. She knew she was one of the most guilty of all that mess, but she had been a coward and had never spoken up. “We like to tell this story like it was just Ryuji and Mona fighting, but it's not true. They were just the most vocal about it, and we let them say what we would've said. Mona knows it, he knows his main reason for running away was never about his bickering with Ryuji. It was about him being substituted. That’s why he never demanded an apology from Ryuji. He would have, if he thought it was necessary. But he didn't, and I think that's because they understand each other better than most of us do. He didn't blame Ryuji, because it really wasn't his fault, even if all of us had shifted the blame on him, saying everything was happening because of his careless words to Mona.” 

The shadow watched as the cat looked up in surprise, as if he had been caught. Futaba was right then. 

Everyone fell silent at that, but it was a thoughtful kind of silence, in which they could actually stop and think things over, in which they felt they actually understood each other better. They had been sort of judging Akira for not saying what mattered out loud, but they too had let too many things unsaid. 

Ryuji, as expected, was the first one to feel restless in the silence. The fact that the very cold shadow in his arms reminded him of how little time they actually had also wasn’t helping. Which was why he latched on the next topic he had a feeling that shadow might have had an issue with.

“So… About me running off at Shido’s Palace…” he began carefully. Akira immediately tensed in his arms and let go. 

“Aki…” 

Akira backed away even further, and got up, expression unreadable, but his whole stance was closed off. He was clearly considering calling the deal off and not speaking another word.

The blond winced. That topic was apparently more sensitive than he had been expecting. He tentatively turned to Mona, hoping Akira’s constant companion could maybe help shed some light on the matter. 

“Was he that upset?” he asked in a low voice. The shadow flinched at his question, and he added. “I-I was kinda panicking, so I don’t think I remember.”

The cat paused for a moment.

"His entire expression freezes when he's truly grief struck.” Morgana’s voice was tight, something heavy in the way he seemed to remember the very moment he had looked at Ryuji on the floor, and looked back at Akira, and it was odd how the latter seemed closer to dying. “It's like he just shuts down, and his face is so empty it's a bit scary." 

It said a lot about how deep his feelings for his best friend ran. He always had an answer, a reaction, an act. But his loss left him empty. There was one thing he didn't have a mask for. One thing he couldn't make himself lie about. One thing that could strip himself of everything. Something so terrifying it made him freeze and stop dead. He remembered standing there for a long time, hearing the discussion, and hearing the slaps, and hearing everyone’s plans for what they were going to do after, he just stood there, frozen.

"I don't think I have ever felt this much hatred in me than I did that day.” Akira’s voice sounded detached, as if he felt so much he could barely feel anything at all. “You'd have left me, all because Shido was the worst plague in this world and he couldn't just go down in peace. Because he was a cursed piece of trash and a waste of oxygen, I was going to lose everything, because someone up there decided he could have luck and become someone influential." He was staring at the floor, but his gaze was unfocused, as if he wasn’t there with them at all.

_They were sinking, and no matter which way he looked, there was only open sea, the afternoon sun was setting, and they were going to die before the moon could rise up._

_Then Ryuji was breaking their formation, and running._

_Akira gave a step forward, hand stretched out to stop him, to scream, but fear had clogged his throat, and his legs trembled._

_Words have always, always failed him. When he needed them the most, nothing came out._

_Ryuji was already so far away, running wildly and unrestrained, his frame small against the night skies around him, fast like a shooting star._

_Was he going to watch that boy die?_

_He couldn’t lose him._

_He was too far._

_He couldn’t save him._

The shadow blinked, but his expression was still frozen. 

"You-" his words trembled, and there was something dark and desperate in his tone, choked up as it was. "You promised me I'd always have a place in this world, right with you, no matter what happened or what anyone said about me, and yet you went and tried to leave." 

His words trembled, but he still didn’t look up, his gaze was still too far away.

"I didn't even got close to you when you appeared back, because I would have screamed at you, and possibly punched that dumb smile off your face because I'd never been this scared in my life."

Something shifted in his expression, and, suddenly, his gaze sharpened, and shocked shell feelings condensed into a heart wrenching anger as he turned to his best friend.

"I was glad when they slapped you, for I felt like you deserved it for making me want to die right there, for taking the ground off my feet like that.” He almost hissed out the words. “For making me wonder, for one minute too much, what the hell I was going to do without you, and why did I stand so far away from you this one fucking time, and oh if I was closer, if I was faster, you'd never have left.” His expression was thunderous, but his voice was falling apart. “It wasn't worth it, nothing was, and I wished you could have let me die instead because how would I live with all these words stuck on my throat?" 

His voice finally cracked, and he almost hadn’t been able to finish his sentence through it all. All the anger vanished, and he just looked vulnerable and heartbroken. Confused and guilty, and still scared out of his mind.

"I was glad they slapped you,” he confessed again, because it was horrible, and just saying it once wouldn’t incite from them the anger he deserved. “So glad. Because, for a horrifying moment, I had wanted to do it.” His silhouette flickered again, his self hatred suddenly too much for him. He could just remember how _gutted_ he felt when he looked around, and his best friend wasn’t there. He could just remember how hollow he felt, in his very bones, and how he had wanted to fucking scream, to punch something until his hands bled, until he could feel his damn hands again, because he barely felt present in his own body. He remembered barely looking up. He remembered not daring to even go look for the blond, because what if he found a corpse? He remembered staring down, and not feeling anything anymore. And then, he remembered Ryuji’s laid back attitude, how absolutely unbothered he looked, how he had cracked up at Ann’s tears and-

All of his anger had been back, and he felt the impulse of just punching the face of the boy he loved. But his body never moved, because, no matter what, no matter how badly he dissociated, no matter how much his hands shook, Akira was too aware of violence to actually inflict abuse on someone like that. Because, even if you pushed him to the brink, and even if you put him in the most impossible situations, he would still take strength from nowhere and try to be fair, he’d try to be gentle, even if he couldn’t manage to be that good at it, he’d reign in whatever dark impulse and try to be kind. 

He looked up at his best friend, and his expression was softer, and infinitely more familiar. When he opened his mouth, it was to say words his best friend had already known to be true. “But I could have never raised my hand against you. Not ever." 

The blond didn’t look surprised at all, and the sigh he breathed out was too soft, too _trusting,_ and Akira couldn’t stomach it.

"I left you alone there, on the ground, because I realised I hadn't confessed but you still had me wrapped around your little finger. I gave you the power to tear me asunder. And you just did, you showed me how easily you'd leave me behind and I was breaking down under the idea. I handed over my heart and I couldn't take it back, and I couldn't look at you then knowing how much of an idiot I was." He laughed bitterly at that, but it was an improvement to his previous blank expression. "I felt so guilty for it anyway, for having thought, for even a second, that you should have been punished, for not having been there for you, but I couldn't bring it up, because how could i have explained it to you without telling you I was in love with you?" 

Ryuji nodded with a sigh. He knew why Akira hadn’t told him anything, but it was another thing knowing how that had gotten in the way of their relationship that much. “Sorry. I had thought you weren’t too bothered by me, huh, almost dying, honestly. I mean, no one acted like it was a big deal, and I thought you were kinda okay with that too, so I decided not to think about it too much.” He awkwardly shrugged.

Akira opened up his mouth to say something, but, surprisingly, Makoto beat him to it.

“Ryuji... about that, I wanted to say I'm really sorry." 

"Yes, we all are.” Futaba added, quickly, before he could dismiss their words. “You're really important to us, and... we knew we'd never recover if you had really... died there. We were just in hysterics, but it was unfair to you."

Haru nodded, looking down in shame. "Yes, we talked between us girls and... we've been meaning to apologise for a while now. We just didn't..."

Makoto shook her head.

"We didn't want to bring up the incident again, because Akira took it really badly and we all noticed. And... we really didn't want to think about it again. We're sorry." 

Akira’s shadow cut in. "I should've stopped you. I just let it happen." 

Makoto shook her head. "You were in shock, Akira. He's your best friend, and he's always by your side, and _on_ your side more often than not.” She stopped for a moment. “Besides... you love him, and I can't imagine how you felt when you thought you'd never be able to tell him that because he was gone." 

"That's not-"

"And we're not children, Akira.” Makoto firmly stood her ground. “We are responsible for our own actions. You're our leader, not our babysitter. Our behaviour is our responsibility alone." 

"Yes.” Haru looked up, chin up as she wholeheartedly supported Makoto’s words. “That's on us.” She properly looked the blond in the eyes. “We took advantage of your kindness. We knew you would forgive without a word. But that wasn’t right and we want to say that we are truly sorry." 

Ryuji looked up at that, and he made a genuine double take at his friends’ honest expressions. 

Akira looked at them with a relief so raw it was heartbreaking. Something unclenched in his chest as he took in their friends making amends like that to each other. For a long time, he had wondered if all of those horrible instances would make their relationship fester and die. He was so relieved he could hardly recognize his own feelings.

But his eyes fell on Ryuji again, and the room felt even colder than seconds before.

"It never even occurred to me apologising. I don't know why. I don't know why you keep being my friend. What were you thinking?"

"Akira..."

"I'm sorry. I don't..." he took a sharp breath, hiding his face into trembling hands. "I didn't regret it there. I never regretted turning my back to you until you disappeared in the middle of Shibuya. You were the first one to go, and I wondered if that was a punishment to me. I had to watch you go again, and right then I thought everything was over, but-" his tumbling words eventually left him out a breath and he hiccuped. His eyes were still dry.

"I wished I had... hold you close to me. I could have given you a real hug, and I'd know how that was. I could’ve played it off as, you know, as just how we touch each other. We touch way more often than with all the others, it wouldn't be weird. I could have done it. You had just almost died, no one would... think nothing of it. But I was a coward, and a terrible person deep down, and I just... It took me thinking I’d never know how it was to hug you to regret how horrible I was to you that day.”

It was as if a dam had broken, and Akira suddenly couldn’t stop.

"I treated you like trash and you still followed me into the dark, you trusted me again with your life and I was going to fail you again. Everything I fucking touched decayed and if I had known, if I had known I was cursed and I was going to lose this damn game, I'd have held you close to me after you almost died saving our lives, and cry because of you. But what I have done instead? I've let people beat you up, and just left you there."

"I…” Ryuji had just opened his mouth to say it was okay, he didn't care for that, really, but Akira was staring right into his eyes, and Ryuji was sure he knew. Akira noticed things, and he knew his best friend. He was there opening up, when it was so difficult for him, and Ryuji felt like he could do the same. 

“Honestly, I’m not okay with being beaten up. At all. Even if the girls didn't really do much damage, but, I don't do well with… yeah.” 

Akira’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer. "Hey, look at me." His voice was gentle, because Akira knew how to be gentle with other people. Not with himself, but with his friends he was always gentle. “No one have the right to beat you up. Never, ever. It doesn’t matter why. It’s messed up. Not because of your father, not because of anything. It’s wrong. No one should ever raise a hand against you, much less people who claim to care about you. I’m sorry I let it happen. I'm sorry I didn’t know what to do.”

“I-it’s…” The blond wanted to say he knew that, but it was more of a lie than it was true. He had let it happen, at Shido’s and with the track team, even if he had been physically more than capable of punching back and making it hurt, and maybe he never reacted because deep down he still wasn’t sure if he didn’t deserve it. “I didn’t want to bring it up.”

“I know how that feels.” The shadow looked sad, but he had a half smile for him.

“Yeah.” Ryuji knew Akira, of all people, would know how that felt, not wanting to talk about something. “So, I can kinda get why you didn’t want to bring up a lot of stuff. And I know how hard it is to do the right thing when you don’t really know what’s going on, and all… So, it’s not really your fault.”

“It kinda is, though. I knew enough, I’d usually be able to see it. I was just… overwhelmed. Terrified. And I was scared of myself, because I never felt that out of control, and I didn’t want to do anything I’d regret later, so I just… walked out. I felt unsettled by my feelings, and I let it hurt you too many times.” Akira looked torn for a moment, before continuing to talk. 

“Ryuji, I left you alone with two men we didn’t know at the red light district. I thought…” His hands shook, horrified. “I don’t even know, I was scared if I said something they would take a look at me and just know I had a crush on you, but how stupid is that? I’d have stepped up for anyone, actually, I _had_ stepped up for an absolute stranger before, but I just left you there, because I thought it wasn’t that serious, and I was more worried about being found out.” His lips curled in distaste, at his own ignorance, at how utterly stupid he had managed to be. “Lala was so mad at me for that when I told her about it. She explained to me how dangerous that had been, and how much of an empty headed irresponsible I was. But I still didn’t apologize because I didn’t want to bring it up again.” 

“Yeah, that wasn’t one of your best moments, Aki, not gonna lie.” He had to fight a sudden impulse to laugh. On that one, Akira hadn’t really made so much damage as he had been imagining in his overthinking head, but Ryuji appreciated the apology all the same. “But, huh, really, you’re kinda good at reading people. Like, seriously good. They were really just loud and obnoxious, but they were good people.” He paused for a moment. 

“By the way, you were kinda right, they told me they took a look at you and went like ‘no way this guy’s straight’.” Akira frowned, slightly indignant at being read so easily. Ryuji stifled a laugh and continued talking. “They were like professional gossipers, so they had, obviously, eavesdropped on the two teenagers getting caught by the police, also known as us two dumbasses. And they kinda got that I had a crush on you, because I apparently was all over you the entire time, and kept huh, staring at you when I thought you weren't looking.” He mumbled slightly, because it was still embarrassing. 

“So when they approached me, they were actually trying to make you defend me, so they could be _cupids of gay love_ or whatever chessy dumb name they came up that I don’t remember exactly.” His ears were red at this point of his recollection, and he firmly didn’t look up. “When you didn't, they dragged me off and scolded me for walking alone in those parts, and I had to defend your ass because they thought you were, well, a shitty friend for leaving me behind. I did get to make them believe you’re, like, awesome, but then they said I sounded really lovesick, and they would help me confess.” He scowled at that. “So I gave them the slip, cuz I didn’t want to confess shit. I really panicked when I saw them on the beach again, cuz they sure as hell weren’t keeping their traps shut about me liking you, so. Yeah.” He finished lamely, scratching his own head in embarrassment.

The shadow blinked, astounded. 

Yes, that actually made a lot of sense. Now thinking back, he had often listened in to the flamboyant duo of Shinjuku, and they were quite aware of every single gossip imaginable. He hadn’t really considered he could have been the topic of said gossip, but him and Ryuji had caused quite the havoc, what with almost being arrested and everything… And Ryuji hadn’t really reacted badly at them at the beach, not as he should if they really had assaulted him in any way. Ryuji was tolerant, but not to that extent. When someone as much as said the wrong thing to him, he tended to explode in whoever’s face, and keep a very clear grudge, as he did since the first time Akechi had criticized the Thieves in front of him. He had lunged at Kamoshida for talking about his parents, and he had been clearly ready to punch him again, and to openly talk ill of him at any opportunity. Of course, he still let people who he considered as friends get away with much more than they should, but he had absolutely no problem in telling off strangers. The watered down reaction to the Shinjuku duo was… out of place. Unless if he hadn’t really been upset with them. 

Akira could admit that maybe he jumped to conclusions a little. He had to heard a lot from Lala before he could start letting go of a lot of his more prejudiced views. But he did shied away from the showy duo, still a little attached to the notion of homossexuals as predators. In a way, knowing the truth made him feel better, relieved he hadn’t really endangered Ryuji. But it showed how he had failed in another way he hadn’t even been considering, and he fell deeply ashamed of himself.

He shook his head.

“I’m glad I didn’t actually put you in danger on that occasion, but it’s still not okay,” he said, looking at his best friend’s eyes. “It wasn’t okay of me to walk out on you in any of those circumstances.”

"Yeah, okay.” Ryuji dismissed the rest of his rambling offhandedly. “I know it was a very lame thing to do, but, first of all, you kinda sucks at dealing with your feelings, so I understand they sorta made you freak out on me.” He raised one hand up to stop Akira from denying his words before he could finish. “You never judged me for my shitty hold on my emotions, I ain't judging you for yours. I have reacted violently sometimes and now I know it scares you.” The shadow flinched slightly, and the blond knew he was right. “Second, about the thing after Shido’s damn ship blew up…” He stopped short at the wide eyed look the shadow gave him, grey eyes suddenly grief stricken again. His whole posture was tense, and he looked like he wanted to do anything but thinking about that day again.

Ryuji winced internally, feeling bad for forcing the issue when it was clearly still too raw for Akira, but they didn’t have time, and he needed to say his piece.

“About you leaving me behind after I almost died in Shido’s Palace.” He firmly pressed on, grimacing at Akira’s panicky expression. He took a steadying breath and softened his voice. “You kinda tried to do the right thing. You know, I prefer you walking out than getting aggressive with me, hands down. I feel safer knowing you’re more the type to walk out and try to cool off than the type likely to blow up in my face.” The last part came out a little hushed, because sometimes memories caught up to him, and he very much didn’t want to think about grown men who didn’t bother to calm down and just _not_ get aggressive. “And… lastly, I'm kinda glad. From all the shit we saw here, we know you're always... trying to get the right answer, say what you think we want you to, act perfectly. It's... nice knowing I could make you drop your act. It might not be what I wanted from you, but you were downright honest with your reaction and I'm glad for that. I can't say I wanna you to be honest with me and then give you hell for doing just that, huh?" 

There was a watery laugh, fragile on every note of it. It was short lived, Akira’s face sobered in seconds, but his expression was a bit lighter, less desperate. It was still tenderly melancholic, but it was calmer. 

“I'm sorry, anyway. I'll do better next time.” 

“No problem, dude.”

“I’m… really sorry for all of this. I really messed up, and… I don’t- I don’t understand why you all would still want to stick with me after I did such horrible things.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have done those things.” Morgana’s voice was firm, but his expression wasn’t accusing. “You did hurtful things. But don’t you see? You care about our feelings. You care that you hurt us. You’re not selfish. You worry that you did us wrong not because you were desperate for us not to leave you, but because you cared if we were hurt. That means everything.” His voice was gentle. “You don’t see us as tools, or something to coddle and comfort you at every turn. You are always trying to give back, and look out for us as well. That’s what it means to be friends.” He headbutted Akira’s calves in reassurance. “We will care for you and you will care about us right back. No matter how hurt you were, you were always interested to know if we were okay. You asked about us, and you tried to help. That’s what people are looking for in friends, and that’s what we found in you. You don’t have to be scared of us leaving you.”

The shadow paused for a moment, taking in everything he was learning. 

“You think…” he trailed off, uncertain. “I wanted to know why my parents-“

He was cut off by a horrible scream in the distance. 

“Was that-”

Akira straightened up, staring off at the distance for a while, before his eyes focused again and his expression changed. He clearly knew what was happening.

“You’ll have to leave.”

“We can’t leave you!” Futaba cried out.

“You have no choice.” His voice was gentle, as were his eyes.

“But-”

“I know sometimes people have to leave.” He softly told them, and his smile was a bit sad, but miles away from the one he offered them when they first stepped into that cell. “It’s not because I’m too afraid of it that I’m letting it stop you from what you need to do.”

They could all feel something inherently wrong in the still air of the velvet room, something haunting and dangerous. Morgana could tell there was a memory too vicious to be contained by Akira's weakened heart, and he could feel the strain it was putting on it. If they let that memory alone for much longer, he wasn't sure what that would do to Akira.

“Just go.” The shadow urged. “You can solve whatever is left of my problem when I wake up. You won’t be able to save me from that if you don’t go now.”

They hesitated.

“There’s no time.”

They ran, and didn’t look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here's the takes about why Ryuji would like Akira and hate Akechi even if everyone says they're really similar. Also, thoughts on how Akira actually takes being compared to said detective. This chapter was all about the dynamics between the thieves, and quite about Akira not at his best moments with his friends. In which our boy finds out that as we get more mature we can recognize we weren't right, and we weren't fair sometimes, and we have to recognize it, and try to be better next time.
> 
> One interesting thing is that every time Morgana runs away, if you try to do things in your room or outside, Akira just refuses. All of those dialogues are things he thinks about when his cat is gone. He thinks about small pawprints, and he points out to claw marks. It’s just noticeable how much he misses the cat, and it’s one of the few times he shows so clearly his feelings in game. 
> 
> In Ryuji’s confidant link, surprisingly, he doesn’t like it if Akira offers to beat up the other boys in the track team. I think it shows a very interesting side of his character, like, how he doesn’t like when Akira shows a violent side, and how Ryuji kinda panics just at the suggestion. Considering his story protecting his mum, I think it would make a lot of sense if he would really hate it if someone tried to take a hit for him. 
> 
> About Ryuji’s and Mona’s interactions, the Thieves’ Den really shows a lot. They get each other in a way it’s hard to explain. First of all, they really don’t bicker when Akira isn’t present, which leads to the theory of them fighting for his attention, but not really holding a grudge. They’re actually nice to each other when they’re alone, and they navigate well into each other’s space. Another thing is that they’re the most fierce about being protective of Akira, and when that comes up, they have a rare moment of serious talk (the thieves’ den has a lots of minor jokes and the likes, and it’s really rare to see Ryuji being dead serious in the game). I won’t tell the spoiler itself, since it is relevant to later chapters as well, but I thought I should note this already. Also, I think I should note how Mona’s running away was a lot more about Futaba and Makoto replacing him than about Ryuji, and they both know it. I feel like the two of them kinda take the blunt of the conflicts because they talk more and the loudest. And, when it really matters, aka back at Kamoshida’s, and after Shido’s, Mona was the one to stand by Ryuji, oddly. Mona was the last one to leave Ryuji, hesitating the longest, and only after he took a look at Akira, apparently deciding Akira was the most likely to fall apart at the moment. So, I like to think they actually have a firm relationship, which could use some work on the whole part of fighting over Akira, but we get there when we get there. Oh, still about the thieves' dem, look away NOW if you don't want a minor tiny spoiler, but the girls regretting hitting Ryuji is canon, they talk about it there.
> 
> I had of course to include a small piece of the cutscene at Shido's, because Akira giving that step and reaching out when Ryuji was running off... ah the yearning. 
> 
> About the Shinjuku duo! I met a lot of nice people in those kind of places in the community, and I think it was a bit sad that the gay men they represented there were shown as predators or something… So, I thought it would be nice if, after all, Ryuji had ran away from them because he ended up spilling his guts to them, and they went all ‘oh, you should confess!! Gay love! You go girl, let us be your cupids!!’, and he just knew when he saw them at the beach they would make his bi ass confess to Akira. *laughs* Of course there’s lots of dangerous people out there, but since their appearance in the game was shown as some kind of joke, I wanted to make it a more wholesome thing. Because it wouldn’t be funny if they were just preying on them… And because I think it’s not good how they’re portrayed as ‘ohh that’s how gay people are, better watch out kids’. And because you can't seriously convince me those two harpies wouldn't know everything that happened on that town, and that they wouldn't have noticed those two gay dumbasses almost being arrested *laughs* And I don't think Akira would really leave if he thought it could be dangerous. Oh! Also, I included a little something about dialogues with shadows. It is considered to be the 'funny answer' when Akira says he likes men, and has girl power. But that's stupid, and I decided he was just dead serious about both, and there will be no lbgt themes being the butt of the joke, you can fight me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for the comments and kudos. I must warn that in three chapters or so (maybe four, honestly), we'll be getting into the Royal content. So, if anyone's interested in watching the gameplay/finishing it on your own, you should have the time to do so leisurely with this heads up!

Morgana led the way, following the dread in his gut, the heaviness in the air. He reigned in the impulse to run the fastest he could, mindful of his human companions’ slower pair of legs. 

The cat stopped short in front of another cell, guided by the insane drop in temperature, by the odd wrongness around the area. His eyes adapted to the darkness quicker, and he spotted Akira before the others could.

He was wearing a very rumpled Shujin uniform, sitting a little slouched, back against the wall. He was carefully avoiding to put much pressure on one of his legs, leaning slightly into the chain holding the metal cot up. He seemed exhausted, but reasonably coherent. 

“Was it him screaming just now?” Makoto whispered by Mona’s side, every one of them a little worried about just barging in.

Morgana hesitated. The feeling he was getting came from around there, he was reasonably certain, but the shadow didn’t look as unsettled as the scream had sounded. He looked tired, bruised, and quite a bit miserable, but he didn’t look afraid. 

Which didn’t necessarily mean anything, since Akira was infuriantly good at hiding his true feelings.

“It might be. We should try talking to him.” Morgana whispered back, swallowing down his growing dread. The shadow didn’t seem to have acknowledged then yet, even when they were standing just outside the cell. 

“Hey, Aki.” Ryuji called and tried smiling, while his hands trembled by his sides.

The shadow turned to look. “Oh.” His whole expression softened at seeing them, in something akin to a bone crushing relief. “It’s good to see you all,” he quietly added, and his voice made their hearts ache. It was tender and slightly disbelieving, like he really loved them very much, and wasn’t sure if he was seeing them again.

“It’s always good to see you as well, Akira-kun.” Haru bravely spoke back while holding back tears, gently, with a smile that trembled just a little.

He smiled back at her, and it suddenly crashed down on their heads just how much Akira really loved them. They knew it, objectively, it was hard not to, with the way their friend always asked after them, and tried to help, and tried to protect them the best he could, but it was something different seeing the sentiment so clear in his eyes.

And they would do anything to help him, no matter how anyone said it was impossible, exactly how they tracked down the woman he protected back then, just so they could revert his sentence, just so they could get him back home. They tore everything down for him, they talked themselves hoarse searching around the city for people Akira had trusted, and who might help them. It was almost impossible, really, even more so at the time, when Morgana was gone, and the rest of them only knew Akira’s other friends scattered around in the city by the stories he told, ‘the kid in the arcade’, ‘the fortune teller’, ‘the back alley doctor’, but none of it came with names, nor places to find them. But they searched high and low, hearts burning for their friend, so they knew that kind of love, they knew what it meant to just want someone happy, to want someone back home, safe. 

It was humbling seeing that feeling reflected so perfectly on someone’s face. It hurt to remember he sacrificed himself for them, and protected their identities to the end. 

But it didn’t matter if it hurt, what mattered was that they were going to save his life now, no matter what. They swallowed dry the emotions bubbling inside their chests, and tried to reach out for him. 

Makoto took a deep breath, and tried not to sound overly sentimental.

“So… I think it’s safe to assume you’re the Akira who went through the interrogation with the police.”

“Yes, that would be correct.” The shadow dipped his head slightly in affirmation, voice still a little hoarse, but they were starting to suspect that was its normal. 

“Well, it’s a good chance to know a little better about what happened? If you’re up to it.”

“Erm, yes.” He straightened up his posture with a quiet hiss. He quickly tried to compensate with a lighter tone in his voice. “We had a lot going on at the time, so I don’t think we talked about this that much, huh?” His words failed a few times around the longer sentence, like he was close to completely losing his voice. 

They didn’t know where to start asking questions. But they didn’t have time, the previous shadow had told them that much. The group desperately stared at Akira’s shadow, trying to think of something, anything that could help them form a plan.

“Why are you here?” Ann tried.

“I’m not entirely sure.” He answered, slowly. His eyes searched the group. “I think mostly so he won’t think about what happened?”

“Because it’s traumatic?” Futaba hesitantly asked.

“Possibly.” His voice was steady, but he looked away. 

The group fell silent, trying to reassess the situation.

He held himself carefully still, and there was a visible tension in his shoulders every time he was asked a question. All of Akira’s shadows were careful with their words, but that one seemed almost paranoid with them. He tensed slightly every time someone moved, even if his expression remained unchanged.

That painted a picture they didn’t like one bit. 

“Akira, you know you’re safe with us, right?” Makoto tried not to sound accusing.

He suppressed the impulse to sigh in frustration. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose, he just… it wasn’t a rational fear. 

“Yes, I know.” 

He wondered if none of them noticed how he didn’t let anyone sit next to him in the thieves’ meetings after his brief stay with the police. Normally he wouldn’t have shown weakness, and would just sit down as he always did with one of his friends by his side. But right after the interrogation he felt on the edge, and it was difficult to focus when there was someone just out of the corner of his eye. His skin prickled with the proximity, and his body tensed, fight or flight instincts kicking him in the guts. 

But he knew his reactions were getting in the way, clearly putting people on the edge and stopping them from accomplishing anything. That shadow surely was not going to be held back by his own body. If it wasn’t needed, he was going to cut it down.

He took a deep breath and forcibly relaxed his posture. 

“Maybe it will be easier if you just show us your memories.” Makoto offered. 

He nodded. He needed a moment before speaking again, since panic was clawing fiercely inside his throat as he forced his body not to react when it wanted to. He was used to it, but it still required a lot of effort. 

“Maybe we should try going over this in chronological order?” Yusuke piped in.

“Works for me.” 

“If you can explain what they’re about, I think it will help.” Morgana added.

“Sure.” He took a deep breath. “I know pretty much all about what I was doing and thinking about the events related to our plan to fake my death. The older memory here is about something that helped me during my arrest. It was not part of the plan, but when I looked back on it, it might as well have been what made me succeed there.”

“What do you mean?” Ann asked, furrowing her brow.

The shadow stopped for a moment.

“Ohya really saved me, even if I never really told her that.” It was an odd addition to what he was saying, and he understood the confused glances directed at him. What the journalist could have done to help him at the police station, when she hadn’t even known he would be going there? But she taught him an odd skill, and it really came through for him. “I don’t even know if she was expecting it to really come in handy… I’ll show you.”

  
  


It was just another day at Crossroads, but this time, the bar was empty, save for Lala and Akira himself. They were deep in conversation.

"I'm not going to lie to you, darling. It's gonna be rough." She stared at the thin smoke of her cigarette. "If you're not with the right kind of people, you'll get in the worst sort of trouble." Her voice was rueful, and she was still not looking at him. "And not being straight... You're young, and pretty, and there are some nasty types just waiting to prey on boys like you.” He looked startled at that, immediately thinking back on the time he left Ryuji alone with two weird guys in the red light district. He had to talk about that with Lala when they were alone again. She went on. “You'll have to get out if you want to find people like you, but whenever you're out there, you're risking a lot."

She drew in a breath.

"Even without that issue, sometimes it's tough, being young. You don't know things and people can take advantage of that. It's true that there are loads of stupid old people, but even they can trick you because you had never seen something or been in a situation." She tapped her cigarette, letting the ashed fall into a small ashtray on the counter. "It's not uncommon for college students' gatherings in a bar to have that group of scumbags that will try and put drugs in drinks. And you will think it wouldn't happen to you, because you're young and you don't know exactly how people see you." 

"Maybe you have some issues and you think you're not pretty enough to gather this kind of bad attention. Maybe you don't know that scumbags are always looking for weaknesses and you have plenty of them you never realized. They will have the advantage sometimes of knowing the place, of knowing the people, sometimes they will just have the advantage of knowing how to hold their liquor and you won't. You're new at that, and no one ever taught you how to drink, but by then you'll be of age, and there will be no reason not to try it out." 

She looked at him, an underage boy who was always out late, roaming in the redlight district and no adult had ever worried about that. She looked oddly protective, and Akira couldn't quite understand why, but she kept talking.

"Turning 20 won't make you an adult at your heart, nor in your head, even. No matter the experiences you had in some areas, there are lots you haven't seen before, and you might get caught off guard. Even something as simple as having one drink depends on your ability to know exactly where you are, if the people there are trustworthy enough to get you out of trouble if you need, what you are drinking, how much, how fast you're drinking. What type of food you're eating." 

She fell silent for a moment, then snuffed out her cigarette, abandoning it on the ashtray.

"When I was young, even before I started cross dressing, and was just the queer boy trying desperately to be straight, I got into trouble. Bad trouble." She quietened at that, and Akira knew people enough to understand whatever happened was horrible, but he didn’t know enough of the nightlife, or about how adults got at those places, to even imagine what it could be. He felt uncomfortably vulnerable, and exposed, at the reminder he was really naive by numerous standards. It made him feel anxious at the notion he could easily be tricked, just because he was too young to have had the experience to know what to do sometimes.

Lala seemed lost in her own musings, but her eyes fell on him often, worried and thoughtful. They stood in silence for a few more minutes before the front door opened and Ohya cheerfully voice shattered the moment.

“Hey Lala-chan! Oh, you’re here too, kid?” She smiled widely at him, sitting on the stool by his side and leaning on the counter. “What are you two talking about?”

“I was just warning him about this town. You know, he’s young and naive, and there’s all sorts of people here. I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble.”

“Yeah, there’s lots of nasty types here.” She paused for a moment, hand under her chin, looking at Akira with a thoughtful frown on her face. She was uncharacteristically silent and serious for a few moments, before turning to Lala. 

“Lala, I know I joke a lot, but… What if he ends up in trouble?” She glanced at her glass, then looked up and stared into the heavy makeup of her confidant. “We could teach him how to handle himself. No illegal goods, of course, just learning how to drink. But… it’s a start, right? Knowing how to handle himself when he’s a little impaired. It could make so much difference, if things go wrong one day.” 

“I know.” There was something in her voice, and Akira had the feeling they were having another conversation in the words they weren’t saying in front of him. “I just don’t like it. Alcohol is legalized, but it’s a drug and it could affect him. His body is still in development, as well as his brain. He shouldn’t be messing with drugs when he’s just sixteen. I don’t care if other people do it. I don’t think it’s right.”

“I don’t think too, either.” Ohya’s usual teasing tone was gone, replaced by something soft and hushed. “I was just pulling your leg when I first started joking about him drinking. But then… When I got to know his circumstances better, I began thinking about it.” Her eyes were far more serious than any time he had ever seen. “We could help him. In case he someday needs it.”

They shared a meaningful silence. When they turned to look at Akira, there was something oddly pained and protective in their gaze. He wondered what they saw when they looked at him, young and unsure, pale skin and slouched shoulders, eyes wide and with a sort of unknownness about the world that he knew, somehow, it scared them to their core. 

Lala remembered when she worked in another bar, and how many times she had to stop someone from drinking something their companion had put something on when they weren’t watching. She remembered the stories about young girls and boys who hadn’t been warned. She remembered her own troubles. She remembered coming to Ohya’s rescue more than once. 

She looked at the boy, and remembered his story, how he had pissed off someone important and ended up losing everything. She had always had the urge to protect him, something fierce inside her revolting at knowing he had been so wronged before. He was quiet and hardworking, and there was something about him that she had seen in herself, and in countless people. Something lots of people hated, but she knew it was just another way in which people were different. She had gone through so much for being different, and she wanted so badly for the next generations to have it easier. 

Ohya’s dark eyes were still on hers. Lala breathed past the heaviness in her heart. 

Akira didn’t understand what was on her mind, he didn’t have enough information to put everything together. He didn’t know they had been talking about it before. He had no idea they had talked about it, when it was just the two of them. About the weird kid, and how he already got in trouble with the police once. About the rumours on underground investigations. Just rumours, that Ohya never shared with the boy because she didn’t want to scare him, and, really, she didn’t have any proof. 

He didn’t know they felt so very afraid, knowing he had a talent of being exactly where he shouldn’t be. He couldn't have known they didn’t speak of the fear in their chests about him somewhere far away, locked up and scared, at the mercy of adults who would tear him apart. How they didn’t want to imagine him in the place of a nameless stranger on Ohya’s article.

Lala didn’t respond for some moments, something sober and grim in her face. Akira wanted to know what she was thinking, but it was beyond him. Eventually, she spoke up.

“Kid, look at me.” Her eyes met dark grey, and she looked intently at it. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You might not even need this training, and you’re sacrificing a lot. I don’t know if it’s worth it.” She sighed. “But, on the off chance you someday need to protect yourself under the effect of something muddling with your brain, I’m offering to help. If you want, we can teach you how to drink and keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

“Oh. Because there’s lots of weirdos here who’d drug people?” 

He didn’t understand, and they didn’t want to tell him. They could be wrong. They probably were.

“Yes, there’s that.” Ohya’s smiled, eyes closed, and voice too cheerful. Lala didn’t have the stomach for the omission. She merely went to close the store, then came back and shuffled around behind the counter, separating a glass, and putting in front of the boy. 

“The principle behind all of those are the same: keep one thought in mind, and grip on it tight.” Lala’s voice was commanding and clear. The boy’s eyes were focused on her, and she proceeded when she gathered she had all of his attention. “If you’re at a bar or something, and you’re feeling dizzy, sleepy, remember to get the hell away from whoever made you drink. Don’t let them touch you. Don’t go. Whatever you do, don’t follow them. It’s the same if they got you to drink more than you could.” She very firmly looked him into his eyes, trying to make him understand how much trouble he could be in if he forgot just one of those steps. “Don’t go. Don’t go to sleep. Never sleep in front of someone you don’t trust. If you can, contact someone. Let people know where you are and when you should be back. Keep yourself focused. Don’t let go of your control, even if your body isn’t listening to you.” She hesitated for a moment, before deciding to add something. “Remember: you don’t have to say anything. Don’t talk. The rest doesn’t matter. Don’t talk, don’t sign anything.” 

Akira nodded once, concentration furrowing his brow slightly. 

“C’mon, let's do this.” Ohya smiled encouragingly at him. “Baby steps. Let's get you some oolong tea.” 

Lala handed him a glass filled with an amber liquid. He sipped, then frowned.

“Is there really something in here?”

“There is, but it’s hard to tell, because the taste of the tea is bitter enough to blend in with the small amount of alcohol.” Lala carefully explained. “It’s not because there’s only a little, it won’t affect you so pay attention.”

“I feel fine.”

“It won’t kick in that fast, let’s wait a little.”

He waited. His face felt a bit hot. His thoughts were this bit slower, but he felt relaxed. 

“You okay?” Ohya asked gently, one hand on his shoulder. He nodded, and she beamed at him.

“Let’s keep at it for a few weeks.”

  
  


The scene changed.

Akira was kneeling in the Crossroads’ small bathroom, Lala’s hand soothingly on his shoulder.

“Have you eaten something before coming here?”

“Yes, lunch, at school.” He didn’t mention his lunches consisted of a small bread, and not a full meal. He had gotten used to not feeling full, and overall ignoring his hunger as long as he could. It had become a habit, so much he didn’t really think about it anymore. Not his smartest idea, apparently.

“Damnit, kid.” Lala cursed softly under her breath, but kept by his side, clearly too used to drunk people getting sick to be bothered by the scene. “Remember, things will kick in faster if your stomach is empty, so be careful, okay? Let’s try again another day.”

  
  


There was a flash, and the scene changed again. Akira was sitting down next to Ohya, a few glasses empty between them. He had drunk three cocktails and a shot of something. His head was swimming, and his thoughts were all muddled up. His limbs felt weirdly detached from his body, like his hazy consciousness was existing above it. It wasn’t like he couldn’t move them, he could, but it required a lot of effort to coordinate, to keep from swaying on his feet. 

“Okay, get up and walk. Remember: take your time to get ready for getting up. Brace yourself, you’ll feel dizzy. Focus on walking, one step at the time.”

He took a deep breath, one hand on the counter, and got up. The world tilted in its axis, and he was absolutely disoriented, but he kept his face blank and waited for it to pass. ‘Don’t let other people know how drunk you are’. 

He walked a straight line, every step costing every bit of his focus, so much he couldn’t even think about anything else, his mind something cumbersome and difficult to handle. But he was centered. When Lala striked a conversation with him, he kept his words from slurring, and he made a passable impression of someone far more sober than he was. 

Just one more week. 

  
  


The memory changed again, and Akira was standing in the middle of LeBlanc’s attic. It was late, probably too much so, but he was wide awake. 

Morgana should have notice it before. Akira always looked far more sleepy than anyone that went to bed at the hour he went had any right to. 

A few seconds passed, and he kept staring down. At his chest. His plain chest. At his clothes, at the undeniably male body hiding under the fabric. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want a female body either. He drew in a shaky breath.

Tonight was going to be another nightmare in which he hated something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt like crawling out of his skin, of the wrongness of his form. He could hardly breathe. It felt silly having a breakdown about that when he was risking death in a few days, but anxiety had a way of waking up every fear he had, and knocking him out of his axis in every way possible. 

It was just something that happened sometimes, especially when he felt too stressed out. Of course tonight would be one of those nights. He was prepared for this as well. With a purposeful breath, he changed masks. 

The faint bluish spectre of another figure stood behind him.

He breathed in the wonderfully soothing feeling Ardha’s ambiguous nature gave him. He basked in the awareness of being something beyond gender barriers, of being both, and neither, but complete and flawless. 

_The totality that lies beyond duality._

He took in the half masculine’s chest, and the half feminine’s breast, the placid expression on the God’s face. The cold anxiety gripping his heart let go slowly, and he could bear being in his own body again. He slowly opened and closed his hands, taking in the sensation flowing back to his limbs, as the panic slowly ebbed out. 

He breathed in, Parvati’s gentle and constructive nature, and out, Shiva’s mighty and righteous destruction. In, the goddess’ many faces, untamed and chaotic, gentle and nurturing, a mirror in her hand reflecting the illusory material world. Out, the god’s ashes covering his body, symbol of all ends, a reminder of the pursuit of spiritual liberation.

Something inside him settled, and he opened his eyes again, grey shards shining quietly in the dark attic. There was something about sheltering so many shadows inside his heart. He felt lifetimes inside his soul, the feeling of knowing wisdoms he hadn’t pondered upon before. The comfort of having someone at his side when he needed, even if he was alone. Even if there was no one else he could turn to for help, he still had his own heart, and he had discovered it was everything he needed.

Just a three more days.

  
  


He let the memory end, but didn’t offer further explanation. Instead, he started talking about his next memory, almost dryly, straight to the point, as if he was reciting hard facts. He didn’t have the energy to entertain them with his own opinions. He just wanted to tell what he had to, and be over with it. 

“As the day of our infiltration drew closer, I was preparing for it in every way possible. Our plan was crazy, but we had a shot, so I tried to make sure everything would go as smoothly as possible.” He paused for a moment, and it almost looked like he was just thinking, but they had a feeling he was really catching his breath. He still looked exhausted, even if he was quite good at talking. “The hardest part was probably making sure _I_ was ready.” 

He exhaled quietly, and showed them his next memory.

  
  


Morgana was lying down on Akira’s bed, tail swishing back and forth in distress, questions pouring out of his mouth, trying to perfect the plan, trying to help Makoto in finding whatever loopholes, anything that could keep Akira safe on the next day. 

"Everything will be just fine." Akira rolled his eyes, seemingly exasperated with all the pointless worry. 

“But-”

"The plan will work." He cut in, reassuring in his steady voice and little smirk. As if his friend was silly for worrying. 

By then, his mask was without a single crack on it. Every single muscle on his face was relaxed, and he wasn't holding any tension on his shoulders. 

His friend was a bit worried still, but he relented, comforted by the boy. It was enough to get the small feline asleep in a few minutes, tired from all the planning and last minute preparations. 

Akira sat up in the bed, carefully avoiding the sleeping cat and threw his legs over the edge of the mattress. He set his bare feet on the wooden floor, hands entwining in front of him as he rested his elbows on his knees. The backstreets of Yogen-Jaya were silent as usual, the cafe downstairs was empty and devoid of life, and the night was a bit chilly, but peaceful. 

He breathed in the stillness of the eve of the day the Leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts was going to die. 

His heartbeat picked up slightly, but he just pressed his hands together more tightly and tried to rationalize it. He knew the mind was a tricky thing, and that sometimes things appeared bigger threats than they really were. He drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. They had to be really careful to perfectly trick the detective into believing they were walking into his trap, which was going to be quite difficult, but it was perfectly doable. Then he was going to get arrested, which probably wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it also wasn’t the end of the world. He was going to try and talk some sense into Sae, convince her of the whole metaverse madness, make her betray everything she had ever worked for and let go of everything she had ever attempted to accomplish in her whole career, and try making her care about justice again. All the while sidestepping possible questions that could make his friends’ identities get found out, within an unknown, but definitely existent time limit, and, at the end of it, hope for the best, and pray that he wouldn’t get murdered by someone he thought as a friend until a few days ago. 

He brought a hand up to his temple, nervously rubbing at it. 

There was a decent chance that Sae would refuse him. Even if he managed to protect his team member’s identities, she might still not believe in him, and, thus, not take his phone. If that did happen, he was as good as dead. 

He bit down on his own lip. If Sae abandoned him there, and refused to help, there would be no one left for him. The police might try to extract information from him, and they would get infinitely creative knowing the prosecutor wouldn’t come back. From what the team gathered from Akechi’s phone, they would let Sae interrogate him just so the prosecutors wouldn’t push his case after he was found dead. Which meant he would be safe until she came in, but after she left he would be in really deep. 

He slowly brought his hands down, staring at his palms under the blueish tint of moonlight coming from the window. 

How would they kill him? He knew there were lots of ways to go, but he hadn’t really taken the time to wonder how he was going down. He knew they wanted him gone as soon as possible, and he knew they would hide whatever evidence of his murder.

His chest was unbearably tight, panic slowly sipping into the cracks of his determination.

Would someone even be able to retrieve his corpse? Or would the police just make him disappear, not wanting anyone to look closer and demand an exhumation? Even if they did give his corpse back to his loved ones, would it be in any shape to be actually looked upon? Or whatever happened to him would make his body disgusting and too horrifying to even stare at? 

Terror gripped their hearts, viciously, something almost palpable in the room they stood in, where the dim lights were always producing the most gaudy and fantastics appearances. Just as ghastly and haunted and wild, as Poe had warned in his writings. But it was just their friend's heart, and all the terror they felt wasn't brought forth by curtains of velvet or tricks of the light. 

It all came from the boy shown in the memory in front of them, their friend, one day before he was going to try and cheat death, and pull out his boldest feint yet. 

They could hear him thinking. He was thinking of how he needed to center himself, and his will felt impossible when they all could feel the very terror he felt, his mounting anxiety, the panic gripping his throat. His hands trembled, and part of him didn't want to go. He looked young then, his glasses off, dark eyes unguarded and terrified. He seemed unbearably small, pupils blown wide in honest fear, looking like a kitten that had just been spooked. 

But he knew he could have all of the world's shadows in his heart, if he was willing to cut it open and destroy it over and over. He closed his eyes, and they all saw as a semi transparent figure of a lean man glowed behind his back, with too many arms and matted hair. The god gave off the impression of being dancing even when he was standing still, and his eyes were placid, as if in meditative state. 

Shiva. 

He took a deep breath and got up, standing at the center of the dusty attic, closed eyes. The figure behind him faded, but they all knew it was with him. He picked up his phone, plugging in his earphones just so he wouldn’t disturb the sleeping cat on his bed. But as the memory played out to them, the music permeated everything, resonating inside their own chests. 

It was a rhythmically placed beat, that seemed to knock down on their rib cages as their leader moved, dancing. His moves seemed a visual rhapsody of many styles, street dance being possibly the most recognisable. 

His hands moved deftly, and for a moment, they didn't tremble, and were just as skilful as Joker's hands lock picking his way through a palace. His eyes were closed as the song told about someone unstoppable and unbreakable, who would fight the power and rule the world. When he smiled at that, it was his smug grin at the metaverse. 

The lyrics told about the day when the weak would be strong. Of people who would fight the power, and, this time, win. He moved quietly, but full of purpose, lost in the movement, in the cadence of his own steps, until he couldn’t think, and thus, couldn’t feel afraid anymore. 

Just like that, they all felt the terror being locked away in a small box inside his heart, where they couldn't feel it anymore. 

He stopped then, clenching his hands and silently panting at the exertion. He looked down at his chest rising and falling, trying to catch his breath without making too much noise. A few moments passed, and he drew in one last deep breath. 

He didn’t feel afraid anymore. 

He went back to his bed, and slept as if it was just another day.

  
  


There was silence following the memory.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were scared?” Futaba’s voice trembled, and even she couldn’t tell if it was just grief at her friend’s struggle, or just rage at herself for having never considered even Akira would get scared sometimes.

“What would have changed?” He calmly asked, almost as an afterthought. “How were we going to succeed if we weren’t one hundred percent focused? There was nothing to be done. We didn’t have any other plan. What good would it do, telling you all how terrified I was, and making everything complicated?”

“You are allowed to be selfish, sometimes, you know. Not everything is about your results.” Ann’s voice was shaking as well, blue-green eyes shining in tears. “We are the team, but we’re your friends.”

He sighed, gaze miles away from them.

“Well, I’m telling you now, I guess.”

“What else do you have here?” Makoto’s voice was grave, but determined. They were going to make things right. 

“Just one more memory.”

  
  
  


It was a small room, dimly illuminated, bare except for a metal table and a solitary chair. 

Futaba remembered that room, from when they examined it to come up with the last parts of their plans. She knew where that was. Knew what was going to happen in there. She needed a moment before allowing herself to look at who was bound to that chair. 

Akira was sitting on an uncomfortable looking metal chair, arms cuffed behind him, head hanging limply forward. 

One bulky man approached, shadowing the unconscious teenager bound to the chair. 

Akira didn’t really react much even after having a bucket of water dumped onto him. They wondered what the hell had happened to him before, for that not warrant any reaction. 

The officer leaned down, grabbing him by the hair and pulling, forcing Akira to look up at him, revealing his face. 

The bruises didn’t look fresh, exactly. They were already turning from red to purple, and he looked too out of it, like he had been high on drugs for some time already. 

The sound felt blurred, like being plunged underwater, and they could barely discern words from whatever the officer was snarling about. They lost half of what was said. Akira’s eyes weren’t focusing very well. He struggled against his bounds, cutting his wrists' tender flesh even deeper, like a trapped animal. 

"You still don't get it?" the officer snarled at him, and stepped closer. Akira was still struggling when he received a vicious kick to his stomach, landing heavily on the floor with a wheezing cough.

There was a collective gasp at that, at the muffled sounds of their friend's pain. At the shoe stepping on his head and grinding him to the floor with a heel. At the way he was grabbed by the hair, and was told no one would ever look at video evidence. 

At how they had all the time they wanted to make him talk. 

At the horrible choking sounds Akira made when he was kicked in the diaphragm.

“Man slaughter too? Talk about the works.” Grey eyes widened in shock. “And you seemed to be enjoying every second of it.” 

_I was… enjoying it?_

He looked up then, and he was small and vulnerable as tears welled up in his eyes, falling quietly as he stared in horror at the officer. 

They realised, suddenly, with a heart wrenching guilt on their chests, that they had never seen him cry. Shadow Akiras cried something hazy, blurry, as if Akira himself didn’t remember how that worked, as if he remembered the feeling of it, but he hadn’t performed the action often enough to know what it looked like, how that worked. They had all forgotten how to, desperate as Akira had been to stop doing that, stop being that emotional wreck.

It should have been obvious, but it never really dawned on them how he repressed the hell out of his feelings. They have never seen him shed a single tear in real life. It never really occurred to them that he could cry, and to see it was terrifying and so out of place it could have been a nightmare. 

But their minds could have never conjured the image that lay before them, not the way his mouth trembled as he was accused of being a murderer, of having enjoyed killing and tricking people. They could have never dream of the open surprise on his dark eyes, his pupils blown wide as a few tears escaped him, in a way that made him look so painfully vulnerable, wrenched open in all the wrong ways, his secrets torn from his hands by people who wanted to harm, who were itching to hurt him. 

He was handed a confession by the same officer who taunted him about being a murderer. He batted away the hand, and pride swelled up in his friends’ chests. 

One man stepped down hard, right on his slightly bent leg, and pain blinded the boy for a moment. Something shifted under the pressure, bone gritting against bone, the juncture screaming as it was pulled into an unnatural angle. He clutched it, feeling the agonizing twinge at the articulation, and suddenly they were still proud, but they wished he hadn't done that. 

He didn't remember being someone who would take pleasure in killing anybody, but he was drugged out of his mind, and he couldn't string a thought to another. He didn't want to be a murderer, he thought, and he was crying at that, terrified and so very small where he was lumped on the floor, waiting for the next hit. It was more understandable then, how someone like Akira had been coerced into signing his own confession. How many hours had the officers had him before Sae showed up?

“I couldn't remember the plan.” The shadow suddenly said, softly, startling them. His eyes unfocused as if he couldn’t really recognize the memory, as if something in him knew the truth, and he was only realizing it now. His voice didn't betray any feelings behind it, and he could have been commenting on the weather, detached as he sounded. 

But the words he gave brought a whole new light to the events, and that light was as ghastly and undesirable as the one that illuminated the velvet room. It wasn't unlike sinking in a very thick layer of guilt and heartache. 

Of course there was a chance he wouldn't remember everything, and they should have thought of that, she should have known, she had all the means to know. Makoto could smack her own head against a wall. Her sister had looked only mildly annoyed at the clear nonconsensual use of drugs, eyeing the syringes on the floor without real surprise. Her sister knew what happened at interrogations underground, she herself hadn't been above cruel methods to get the proof needed to solve her cases. 

Makoto tried to swallow down the guilt. She should have been more thorough with it, she had the best shot at seeing that flaw on their plan, but she had done nothing. He almost died abandoned in an underground interrogation room, confused and in so much pain, by the hands of someone he had wanted to save, his face blown up by an unforgiving bullet to it. The last thing he would have felt would be the cold press of a gun to his head, and the certainty of being abandoned by the very people he had given himself up to protect. 

The officer was still right on his nose, body tensed and probably ready to punch him again.

"Don't expect to walk out of this in one piece."

Yes, probably. Akira wasn’t sure if he was even walking out of that alive, not to mention in one piece. He was exhausted beyond himself, his hands were trembling badly and he didn’t remember why. He signed the confession. His bowed head, as he returned the slip of paper, hurt. 

They hadn't known he had forgot everything. The sheer grief struck down hard on them, because, ultimately, it was them who put him there. Every bruise on him was a price for their lives, and their hearts were breaking all over. It hurt the most when they caught a stray thought going on their friend's sluggish mind. He couldn’t remember what he was doing anymore. His body hurt everywhere and he couldn't remember why.

_They can go on without me as a leader. Makoto is level headed, and she won't have a problem figuring out whatever comes next. I hope she's the next leader, she can do it, she's got a great team with her. Futaba is a downright genius, and she can pull out the impossible, all the while being all the light and joy Sojiro could ever need._

And it felt nice, for once, to be disposable, to know he wouldn't hurt the old man with his absence.

Yusuke would be there to make up for all the flair Akira had, and they would sweep all the hearts in the country with great style. Ann would show what it means to be strong, and her fiery temperament would make all of them want to try harder. 

_Haru will keep them all honest, and right, and she will always be looking out for all of them, perceptive and sensitive enough to see beneath Mona's bravado, and Ryuji's defensive self deprecating humour._

And Ryuji would keep them believing, he would diffuse awkward situations with his laughter, with an honest reaction and frank words. His sincere and unshakable faith in their group and his bright demeanour would light up the room, all of the rooms he walked through, and it was a bit of a shame he himself might not be there to see it again, but at least their group was safe. Ryuji would give anything to protect them, he was sure. They would do good. 

Mona... would probably be so pissed at him. The idea was bittersweet. The cat would be beyond himself, and he almost smiled imagining him scratching his tombstone in revenge. He was a teensy more confident that Morgana at least would miss him. He was the one who primarily took care of the cat. Of course, someone else would take this duty, but... 

Mona was tearing up badly at hearing it, and while it was an honour being the only one who Akira thought that would miss him, it was horrible knowing he thought like that. 

There was a muffled sound behind the metal door, and Makoto could pick out her sister’s voice. 

Akira wasn’t listening, the whole memory was just a blur of pain and confusion as he was manhandled onto a chair, left there to be interrogated by the prosecution. He barely even looked up when Sae came in, and he didn’t bother to acknowledge the oddly disappointed note in her voice as she took him in, and understood just who was the leader of the organization she had been hunting for the past months.

Sae was talking. He couldn’t understand her at first, staring at her with dead eyes, bracing his weight on the table as he tried to keep his body upright. It felt like there were tiny little shards gritting the bone of his right knee, which made him quite sure he had pulled something in there, and he was very sure he couldn’t brace his weight on that leg. He scowled instead of hissing out in pain, and tried to focus on talking to Sae. 

She slid Kamoshida’s calling card on the table. 

His head was killing him and as much as he tried to soothe it by pressing down on his non bruised temple, he still felt like his skull had been cracked in half. There was pain irradiating from one bruise around his temple that was really distracting, but the mass of agony on the middle of his skull was probably the most bothersome. He knew what dehydration felt like, but that was on another level. He hadn’t drunk any water since last night, before the infiltration. It’s been more than 12 hours ago at least, and Sae didn’t look inclined to offer him any as well, despite how clearly his lip had cracked and bled from how dry it was. Was it a technique? If so, that was why Sae didn’t try getting him some water? Maybe she thought he would cooperate more, or maybe slip up and confess.

Well, what a shame he was this much of a stubborn bastard. He would never sell out his friends. It was a matter of principles. 

Even if it was his principles that put him into that entire mess. But he wasn’t giving up, he had to tell her, he had to convince her of… something. 

He didn’t remember what he was trying to accomplish there. 

Breathing was excruciating, after hours of being stuck with his hands cuffed behind him, and as much as he tried to alleviate the pain by leaning forward on the table, it wasn’t doing him any good. He had to keep talking to Sae. 

She slid Kaneshiro’s calling card on the table.

Focus, focus on the pain. Every time he tried to pull away from it, he either dissociated or he came too close to passing out, and none of those things helped him convince Sae. He focused hard on the throbbing of his skull, breathing in and out to feel that hot white agony in his ribs. As long as he could keep track of the pain, he could make himself stay awake.

Medjed case.

He kept talking, past the sharp pain in his dry throat, past the agony each breath of his open mouth brought him, forcing the words out with every throb of his head. His saliva was thick, and swallowing it hurt too much. 

Okumura.

Sae kept yelling. He didn’t have it in himself even the small energy needed to flinch at it, but it didn’t make it less unsettling. He grimaced and ignored the ringing on his ears. His voice was hoarse and his throat felt raw. It was painful drawing in the air to keep talking. His hands were cold enough to hurt, and he kept shivering. His head was killing him.

The casino. 

Every time she slammed her hand on the table his head shook with the impact, and he had to take a moment not to throw up. The metallic sound of the table rattling on the ground was enough to shatter his eardrums, sensitive as he was. Every single sensory input was too much for him at the moment, and he just wanted to have some dry clothes and curl up somewhere dark and quiet. 

But since when did he get what he wanted? The sickly pale light just over the table was still piercing his eyes, his clothes were still damp and freezing, and Sae was still yelling. She had said, when she came in, that she couldn’t stop the officers from doing whatever they wanted with him. He idly noticed how she wasn’t bothering keeping _herself_ in check, because how was that yelling and slamming tables in front of a clearly hurt and scared teenager something she should be doing? She had been trying to scare him into confessing and selling out his friends since the very beginning. She hadn’t cared for his trembling hands and drugged mind. She hadn’t expressed anything more than irritation every time he faltered and almost lost the faint grip he had on consciousness.

She wasn’t any better than those officers. She knew everything about the methods, and what happened inside that kind of room, and she didn’t look anything more than slightly inconvenienced. He knew that type of adult, who knew everything wrong and pretended they didn’t see it. Then tried to act like they were so much better than everyone else. 

He didn’t hate her, but he certainly felt threatened in her presence. He knew she didn’t care for his well being, and he was quite aware of how dangerous it was to gamble with her. She was trying to get all of them arrested. She would do it, even knowing what would happen to them there. Even after looking at his face, and all of those syringes on the floor. 

He couldn’t show weakness, and everything depended on that. She would hate it if he took too long to talk, even if it was just because he was in too much pain to think. He had to push himself beyond any limit he thought he had, and keep going. 

His feelings, his well being, nothing mattered, in the end. What mattered was getting things done. 

No other way, but through it.

He had always known this. He just had to...

The room flickered around him again, longer than the other times, unconsciousness threatening his frayed senses. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe past the agony of his body, Sae's voice ringing on his ears but he was too far gone for that. 

_It's fine if they betrayed me, it's fine if they left me here to die, I'm just so tired. So fucking tired. I don't care for the answers anymore. Please, let it end._

He couldn't feel his arms, numbness filling his entire body. He just wanted everything to stop. He couldn't even hold his head upright anymore, and he couldn't think, trapped in a body that was shutting down on him. The world darkened around the edges, and he could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. 

“Hey! Are you listening to me?!” the yelling and the slamming of the table barely registered anymore.

If he fell asleep now, maybe he wouldn't even have to wake up again, and he tried not to sob in sheer relief at the idea. 

If things were to be like that, he should have given up long ago. This couldn't work. Why couldn't anybody help him for once? Just this fucking once. 

“Pull yourself together!”

He wrenched himself out of the sweet pull of unconsciousness, holding on by sheer force of will. He was almost done, he could succeed. He just had to keep his mouth shut, and it would all be fine. He just needed to keep it together, to clench his teeth when they came back to torture answers out of him, and it would probably hurt enough that maybe, by the time he was cornered by Akechi, he would even welcome the bullet. 

He could do it. 

She told him he would be most likely sentenced to death, and tried making him sell out his friends. 

He didn't. 

She got mad, and insisted. He shook his head again, and the prosecutor looked almost approvingly at him, and he wasn't sure why she would feel happy at him not accepting her deal. Maybe she felt humiliated by how they caught criminals that had been evading the police, and she was content to watch him rot in jail, or maybe she knew he wouldn't walk out of that interrogation room alive, since Akechi would come to murder him, and Akira was so mad that he didn’t fucking realised the trap earlier, it had been so obvious, and now he had made Futaba stay up all night to get his phone to-

Wait. 

They all felt dizzy with the sudden rush of memories flooding their almost overdosing friend, the sheer panic at seeing Sae starting to leave and knowing he had maybe a couple of minutes to fucking pull out the rest of their plan. 

"The phone." His voice was cracking, and he couldn't even breathe past his panic, and the screaming pain of his body. He flinched hard at Sae’s yelling, and her slamming a hand harshly on the metal table.

"Not... a teammate." It took everything he didn't have to force the words out, and he wished Sae would make less questions, or at least take into consideration he could hardly stay upright. He clenched his teeth and held himself up anyway, breathing unevenly at the strain. 

He barely saw Sae's eyes widen, finally getting what he was hinting at. He let go of his phone, let her take it, and just gave up on thinking. He didn’t slouch, opting to just lace his hands together, keeping them on one of his knees, pressing down on a painful spot to keep himself aware. 

A king on his broken throne, waiting. He was just waiting his turn on the guillotine. Or, he'd be saved. He felt light, just waiting for whatever happened next. He did everything he could. It would be enough or it wouldn't. It was freeing, in a way, having done exactly everything he could.

The vision blurred, and Akechi was walking into the room. 

They all gasped as he shot the guard, not a single hesitation, easily, as if he was taking the trash out, before landing his eyes on their leader.

His lips twisted in some sort of poisonous hatred, disgust, and a crazed sort of obsession. Maybe the sort of admiration that made someone want to break the object of his awe, darken its light so it could stop being better. He had told them that much. He sounded honest when he said that. 

They knew where Akechi was coming from. Shido had been quite a bastard, and it was tempting imagining how things would be if life had been different for him. He was smart, and competent, and even funny when he wanted to be, and how would life be if they were friends, sometimes they'd wonder. When he had been yelling at Akira, at how a trash like him should never have had better luck than himself, Akechi had looked like he wanted what they had. The friendship, the closeness. 

It was this harder to remember that when they knew how much in pain Akira was, how close he came to dying right there, how Akechi had mocked him to the bitter end. It was harder to be the better person when they all felt this protective of Akira, stupid Akira, who had tried all year to befriend a murderer, who had been a few seconds away from being killed still in his school uniform. Who'd die for his friends, who was too brave and too stupid. Who still offered a place in their team to his almost-murderer, who reached out a hand, even if he knew it was going to be bitten.

Yusuke was trembling, rage frosting the elegant lines of his face, trying desperately not to vomit too as they all saw the scene from an upward viewpoint. Looking down on Akira, who was beaten black and blue, hands shaking, freezing in his damp uniform, hunched over the table as he tried to stay conscious. It was horrifying.

Insults. A raised voice, spitting at him. What if it had happened? Even if Akira did perfectly, but if Sae hadn't agreed to take the phone... 

Akechi pulled the trigger and half of them flinched, half sobbed as they saw their friend's head crack and start to bleed, his body falling onto the table, skull pierced open and eyes unseeing. 

Ryuji had to be physically restrained not to interfere as the detective placed the gun on Akira's gentle hands, walking away ready to tell everyone that that sweet boy was a murderer and had just killed himself in shame.

Makoto trembled in rage, in choked panic at the very idea. If they had believed, for a single second, that Akira had killed himself, they'd have been broken beyond repair. When she looked at the group, though, they were already broken in too many ways, so she stood taller, squared her shoulders and set her face in fury. 

The scene dissipated, and they saw Akira again, fingers still firmly pressing down on his own flesh, eyes bright and alert.

But his unafraid expression at winning couldn't quite comfort them, not when they knew their leader had refused to turn them up to the police out of pure braveness, something righteous and so very naive about him that didn't even made him consider the offer, even when he had been half convinced he had been betrayed by one of them. 

He was humiliated there, and as his murderer was too young for the gun on his hand, Akira was too young to be at the aim of one. He couldn't even buy himself a drink, but here he was, gambling with his own life. 

If he hadn't remembered the plan, his last moments would be staring at someone he tried to befriend, someone he tried to save, but ended up killing him without thinking twice. Abandoned by everyone, at least. Greatly in pain, and absolutely alone. 

  
  


The memory ended abruptly, and they all turned to stare at the shadow. His eyes were inescrutable. He didn’t look particularly bothered, his grey eyes sustaining a mild gaze at some point in the floor. He was odd, in a way they couldn’t really put their finger on why. 

He looked like a mess, true, but there was something in him entirely unreadable, and they couldn’t connect to him like they managed to do with his previous shadows. 

Ann drew in a deep breath, hiding her face into trembling hands. 

“Akira, I’m so sorry.” She wanted to scream, to kick something, and she knew every single one of the other thieves wanted that as well. The silence stretched and they all still looked lost and out of their depth. “You always helped us, and here we are now, useless!” she spat out the words, stomping down fiercely, as if daring him to contradict her words. 

“I don't think that's it,” he said slowly, hugging his knees to his chest and looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I don’t… It might not really be your fault.” He frowned, seemingly confused. He knew he was… defective in a way other shadows weren’t. His feelings were horribly disconnected from the memories, as if he hadn’t really lived them. It could be many things, he knew Akira dissociated sometimes, but… 

“What is it, then?” Ann asked him, tentatively, and slightly hopeful.

"You know..." his voice sounded casual, almost carefully so, and all of them had a bad feeling. "As you all saw just now, my memory doesn't really cover how I got most of my bruises." He blinked a few times, slowly, as he tried to put everything together. "It was bad enough that I couldn't remember it when I was conscious again, but it's not like the memory wasn't formed. If everything I buried is in here... there's one of me who knows what happened." He had a feeling he knew what was wrong, but he couldn’t remember. Or refused to. He kept talking, trying to make sense of the feeling in his chest, words tumbling out as if they weren’t his. "Maybe... if you get to him, I will go away too." 

They didn’t want to see more of that. They were dreading to even imagine whatever Akira had blocked out, because he had a horrible sense of self preservation, and if he, of all people, decided it was too much, they didn’t have any delusions that whatever it was, wouldn't be really bad. 

"Do you have any idea about where we could find that shadow?" Haru asked, holding her trembling hands over her chests and asking over the tears in her eyes.   
  
"Joker guards a whole wing of this place. It's probably there. It's linked to here, so I can more or less tell that... whatever it is, it's really similar to my memories, but they're very different." He frowns, before shaking his head. "Sorry, I can't explain it very well."

"You should come with us then," Ann said. "If you need to see the other memories too, it's better if you come with us, right?"

He shook his head and looked away.

“No… just come pick me up later. It's difficult getting through there. I don’t want to go.” He frowned and didn't offer any more words. 

Futaba opened her mouth to argue, but Morgana cut her off. 

"It might be a better idea if we deal with Joker alone. We don't want to gather too many shadows in one place, anyway, since we don't know if that could affect Akira negatively." He hesitated for a moment, before adding. "And I don't think we should force him to go."

The group nodded at that. 

"We'll be back soon, ok?" Ryuji said, reaching out to take the shadow's hand and squeezing it once in reassurance. He was used to touch Akira at any time, and he was more confidant in offering comfort with actions instead of words anyway. Shadow Akira looked a bit startled, but he squeezed back with a small smile in his face. He seemed pleansatly surprised to know it was okay for them to hold hands, and the soft expression he had was heartbreaking to see amidst the reds and purples blooming on his pale skin.

Ryuji felt the hand in his shaking faintly, and he suddenly understood how scared Akira had been the whole time.

The blond rubbed the back of that cold hand with his thumb, and Akira let out a shaky breath, his apathetic demeanour cracking slightly as his breath hitched and he bit his lip, overwhelmed at being treated this gently. 

When the group started to move towards the exit, the shadow hesitated a bit longer than it was proper, but let it go without a fuss. 

Ryuji fled before anyone could see him crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the yearning. Fun fact, I wasn't planning on writing a slow burn. But then I was thinking back on the chapters and realised we're 50k+ in and they have barely hold hands aksdjalksdj So i had to update the tags.
> 
> I must say, Akira did really well for someone with his senses impaired by drugs, so I started thinking about it, and I think it'd make a lot more of sense if he had at least had some experience with it. Thus, Ohya and Lala worried about him, because Ohya does get good information, and I believe she would snoop around to know more about what Akira would be facing (after she realized he was a phantom thief). She found out about his rigged sentence in a few days, so I think she would have the means and the motivation to look further into police interrogatory procedure...
> 
> ALSO! I was going to talk about this in the chapter in which Akira started getting reckless in the Crossroads, but I might as well do it now. I actually read fortune using tarot cards (it was actually one of the big reasons I even bought Persona, cause I liked the idea of the cards and symbols and shit), and I wanted really much to nerd about this here. AND I wanted to explore more aspects of Akira's arcana, aka, The Fool. The fool, in its negative aspects (reversed), can also imply debauchery and drug abuse, and usually talks about bad decisions, lack of direction. So, that's why all of this is here. 
> 
> Also, but this is more of a curiosity, I remembered how in game one day Lala relented and served him oolong tea. Like, in the beginning she would only give him water, afterwards she gave him oolong. And, huh, interestingly enough, in several bars/restaurants in Tokyo (at least all the ones I have been in) serve spiked oolong tea, and don't even list it as an alcoholic beverage. It's like, orange juice, green tea, oolong tea, water... There's only very little alcohol inside, but there is. I asked for one without knowing it and they gave me, no questions asked, no id. So it might be kinda acceptable? Like, it is acceptable for minors to drink amazake. So Akira might have had spiked oolong in game. 
> 
> Also, I must say, even AFTER Akira remembers what he forgot because of the drug (Igor's cortesy), he never remembers what happened to him between his arrest and Sae coming in. But it wasn't like his brain wasn't awake and functioning when that happened, so he definitely remembers, but must be clocking out the memory consciously, like 'nope, can't see it'. 
> 
> Oh, and if anyone's curious, the music I referred to in the chapter is called Rule the World, by Valley of Wolves. Someone sent it to me once and I quite liked this bit about fighting the power. But in some moment someone made an amv (it totally was an amv) about marvel i think so now there's lots of videos w like call of duty or whatever war thing. Like the war industry wasn't the power to be fighting against, but anyway. 
> 
> Also, Akira's dancing is a tribute to his crazy everything-smashed-together style he pulls off in P5 Dancing in starlight. I just think it'd be interesting if he could hang out with and understand Yusuke because he as well had some kind of art he could rely on to express a little bit of his repressed feelings.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! I'd like to give an enourmous thank you for everyone who commented on the last chapter. I was struggling a lot, and got anxious, and I didn't know if I could have published this chapter was it not for the very gracious words they have written. This chapter is, thus, a day early, and very long. 
> 
> Heads up for a bit of crude language and violence.

In hindsight, they should have known. They should have expected it, from all the questions Joker had asked them. And from the very known fact that their leader didn’t ask pointless questions, so he was planning on using their answers for something. And that when they were listing his qualities, they might have phrased things a bit weirdly.

But it felt like ages ago since they had that conversation, and they weren’t really thinking when they followed Morgana’s mad dash towards a more secluded part of the velvet room. Towards an ample hall, surrounded by a row of cells, a perfect copy of the first one they saw, where Lavenza had sat on a beautiful table. 

Joker grinned, gloved hands pulling at one chain. When the lights hit the end of the metal links, the thieves stopped dead on their tracks.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"Oh man." 

"Akira-kun, what-?"

There was a pair of identical laughter ringing, and it just occurred to the group Akira had a cheeky sense of humour, both inside and outside the metaverse. 

It was something inoffensive but mischievous, somewhat chaotic. He was quite a bit like a real cat, jumping on people's important papers and stretching himself on top of it, knowing he was too cute for anyone to try and defy his stance on the desk. At the same time, he was squittish, ready to bolt if someone as much as raised a hand, exactly like a cat, who knew humans weren’t always kind. But one who would still jump on papers and ruin trash cans, always with a tilt of its hips that said exactly how much it enjoyed defying the rules. 

Akira had a heart of gold and was a great friend, but damn if he didn't like messing with people. 

So there Joker laid, splayed on a beautiful armchair, pulling a perfectly-according-to-dress-code uniform clad Akira onto his lap. The student went easily, straddling Joker's hips, looking back and sending his innocent look at them.

It was really distracting. 

"Do you think he's pretty?” Joker asked them, conversationally. “Unfashionable hair and those huge glasses.” His tone was dismissive, yet Akira didn’t contradict his words. “But he's quite fit, I hear." He said, blood red fingers reaching down and squeezing Akira's round ass. 

Morgana shrieked and went into hiding in an adjacent cell, but the rest of them couldn't quite look away. 

“He knows we started to see Joker as something apart from him and he's using it to confuse us! We have to get past him and his tricks to access the memory!” Morgana called out from his hiding place.

“Wait, does that mean he knows at least half of us think he's hot fiddling with his gloves?” Ryuji faintly asked.

“Shut up! Don't give him ideas and get moving!”

Futaba was the first one to recover, seemingly vaguely disturbed, and she was followed suit by Ann and Makoto. 

"What? You don't like us?" He asked, husky voice curious, a tilt of his head, a gentle consideration in his eyes. Like he was wondering what he could offer, what he should change. 

"Is it me? Am I still not good enough?" Akira's voice sounded, and for all vulnerable the question sounded, he just looked contemplative. "I can do better". And Makoto regretted bitterly having ever told this boy he didn't look beautiful enough. That he was lame. That she couldn't introduce him to her friend as a fake boyfriend with his looks. 

"Hey, hey. You're just fine. You can just train some more." Joker's gloved hand gently cupped Akira's slightly dejected face. It seemed to give some confidence back to the boy, and his small smile made his glasses move a little where they rested on his cheekbones. 

"I see…” Yusuke had a hand on his chin, thoughtful. “Joker can act like a buffer to him." 

"Oh, you think you can predict us?" Joker had a devilish smirk, larger than life, and he might have picked up something, a small creak in their determination. He must have seen something that proved he still had an audience. That they weren't as unaffected by his performance, because he fixed his eyes on them and pulled Akira's leash, pressing a searing kiss to his lips. Joker's eyes stayed open for a moment, something smug on them as they all trembled at Akira's muffled moan. 

Ryuji almost swallowed his own tongue, and he tried not to whimper at the sight. Oh awesome. God must have abandoned him. Awesome to know.

Yusuke had an interested gaze, considering, and he might have wanted to sketch that badly. Haru had a decidedly dangerous glint in her eyes as she watched Joker pulling the chains. 

As expected of someone who outright admitted to feeling a thrill at making shadows beg for their lives. Joker smiled even wider.

Ryuji’s brain hiccuped and froze. He had probably died already, and heaven had multiple Akiras lying around, being sexy and messing with him. Wait, how did he end up in such a wonderful kind of heaven like that? He should write that shit down, in case he reincarnated, so next time he died he ended up in that heaven again. Wait, that didn’t make any sense. His last brain cells had died an honourable death after hearing Akira’s soft moan.

What a good thing no one really needed brain cells to keep talking, because his mouth was opening before he had any idea what to say.

"Is it wrong that he's getting to me? Cause he is. Like, really." 

Morgana shrieked at that. "Ryuji! Don't fuel him!"

"Akira's ass looks fantastic! A dude has limits!"

"Yes, and you just dug your grave, genius!" Futaba snapped, dragging the thieves near her, namely Yusuke and Haru, and hiding into Morgana’s cell. Ann scurried after her.

Oh no. 

He immediately felt Joker's gaze zero on him. Ryuji realized he just gave him an edge. A new weakness to explore. He realised, briefly, the other thieves had gathered in one of the cells around, and were whispering amongst themselves while the blond remained behind. Okay, it made sense, Joker was focused on him, and Ryuji could probably distract him while they come up with a plan. Probably. 

"Come here, I just want to talk." Joker's voice sounded, expression relaxing slightly. 

"Mm, we could talk from here. I-I can hear you fine." The blond stuttered, trying to look at anywhere but Akira's perfect ass on Joker's lap. Definitely not looking at those sinful gloved hands too. Not a single thought on how hot their kiss was, not even about the frankly delicious moan Akira apparently could give when thoroughly kissed, nope. Zip. Nothing.

"It's a bit awkward talking this far away. And there's nothing wrong with you coming closer. We won't do anything." Akira sounded honest, even if he still hadn't budged from his spot on his twin's lap. 

"Well, if you don't come closer we might have to entertain ourselves with other things." Joker added, one red finger tracing Akira's soft lips, eyes following the movement almost in a trance. 

The blond was rooted into place, tongue useless in his mouth as he stared. 

With no answer from him, Akira leaned in again, and his hips did a small movement, grinding down-

"I'm going!" Ryuji shrieked, arms flailing as he tried to block the view. Damn Joker knew how to play him. "Please, stop! I'm going." Well, he supposed a little talk couldn't hurt. 

He approached and stood awkwardly next to the pair, noticing briefly the leg Joker had thrown over the arm of the chair, and how flexible he was. Dark eyes caught him looking, and he received a smirk for his trouble. Damn, he might not be the most suitable for the job. Any smile Akira gave made him a bit weak in the legs.

"You could stay with us for a bit." Joker said, deep voice forming the words gently, unthreatening. "We could do what you want." A suggestion, the whisper of a demon, temptation. "But what would you want?" His gloved hand cupped the blond's face, bringing him close, tracing his lips as he did with his twin and whispering low. "Do you want me to bite you? Tie you up and make you beg? Make you come undone under me, only allowing you to come on my whim?" He pulled him down by his lapel, even closer, lips almost touching his ear. 

"Or do you want to make me beg?" Akira's softer tone sounded, deep and velvety, and Ryuji snapped his head to the side to look at him. He was cute with his dark curls and huge glasses, soft skin, and small smiles.

"Mmm? Would you want that?" Joker practically purred, one arm around Akira’s waist, one red hand under his chin, tilting his head up to make him look at the blond. "Would you like that? Hold him down and make these pretty eyes go all wide and teary as he chokes on your cock? Fuck him until his voice is all hoarse, and he's blushing and wanting, tight around you?" 

The blonde almost squeaked at the suggestion, and he held his breath, desperately trying not to focus on the mental images that flooded his brain. Oh God. He was dead, that's it. He was dead and he was abandoned by every deity in the whole existence. His epitaph would have to note that he was murdered by Akira's slutty remarks. 

His fierce blush and small squeak elicited an appreciative smile from the duo. 

God, why? How could anyone have a smile this pretty? Even when Akira was being a fucker Ryuji still thought he was cute and just all around lovely, and it probably meant he was too far gone for that boy. 

"Promise us you won't pry any further." Joker proposed, always the negotiator. "We can have a little bit of fun, and then you all leave. Everyone will be happy. Win win."

Ok, he had to give it to him that he was good. Silver tongued to hell and back. He suddenly felt bad for thinking ill of all of those shadows that fell for his tricks. If Ryuji hadn't seen lots of his best friend's memories yet, he might not have seen it. 

But he knew better now, and just as he heard the offer, the facade was simple. _'I'd do anything if you don't look any closer'. 'Please, don't take off my mask_ '. 

"Sorry, Aki, we have to keep going." He finally found it in himself to pull away, and resolutely did not look up to see what was probably dejection on the face of the boy he loved so dearly.

"Don't you at least want me?" Akira’s voice sounded cocky, but there was something vulnerable in his question. 

"Course I do.” He scoffed, because he had been pathetically in love with that boy since probably day one. “Smug bastard,” he added with a weak grin, because maybe then Akira would smile. “But it's not like that. Think you can just offer one side to me? I wanna know it all, dude. To be honest? I don’t even know what you were on about being two of you. Everyone knows it’s just you.”

Joker’s eyes went wide beneath his mask, caught entirely off guard. 

“I love you when you're a dorky nerd telling me stupid jokes and I love you when you're kicking ass and being a showy bastard. It's all fine,” he confessed in a small voice, squatting next to the chair to look up at them. “I don't want a performance from you. I never did. You weren't any good at school, or skilful and smooth when I fell in love with you, y'know? Back at the start your grades sucked, and you sucked at picking locks. You weren't even that good at sympathising with people, and you were the scarediest kitty cat of all, and we had to listen to Mona complaining how you never talked to the man at the airsoft shop cuz you were too scared. You got nervous or anxious about talking to people sometimes.” 

He took one of Joker’s gloved hands, and continued talking without looking him in the eyes. “But it never mattered to me. I liked you cuz you have a sense of humour, and can't leave well enough alone. How you didn't leave me behind, and how you saved my life. How you kept getting better but you never flaunted it.” He took a deep breath. “Like I said before, you never... told me I was just good for carrying things. Even when you got top of your class, you never treated me like you were too good for me. I like you cuz all of that, I liked you before you brushed up all those skills, so it ain't like you can really bribe me with them.” He half smiled, wondered if that made him sound easy. But they were tearing apart all of Akira’s defences, and demanding honesty, so he felt like he owed him the same honesty. “I already liked you a lot before all of that, cuz you were awesome with me.” It felt so weird saying it aloud, and Ryuji was so embarrassed he was fairly sure he might die from it, so he laughed and tried for a lighter tone. “And well, maybe it's a teensy bit cuz you have a nice smile and... well, I guess I like the way your hair curls a bit. And your voice. Really nice, y'know? Pretty unfair for a dude to have a voice this nice.” 

Twin sets of dark eyes stared at each other, unguarded. Confused. Neither of them could believe entirely in the words said. What was the blonde trying to imply? That they had been good enough just being who they were? That there was something worthy in them, that had nothing to do with how useful they were? 

It was odd seeing that vulnerability in Joker's usual mischievous face, and there was something resilient in Akira's meek gaze. But there was hurt in both of their eyes. Something raw and painful. Akira stood up, and Ryuji gave them some space. Joker also left the armchair, and the twins stared at each other for a moment. 

Joker opened up his arms first, and his twin shadow collided against him, holding on tightly. 

“What if we let them see it?” Akira mumbled into his twin’s ear. 

“That never went well for us.” 

“...”

“But you won’t give up anyway.” Joker was sighing, but he knew better than to push the issue. “Your optimism will be the death of us, I hope you know.”

"I’m sorry." Akira was saying, burying his face into his twin's black coat. “I'm your weaker side. Diluted. Useless”

"You made me. If I can be strong it's because you worked hard for it." His voice was strained, and he held gently his twin, softly caressing his back. "You still had something too soft on you. I was just trying to hide you away. We couldn't... we couldn't get hurt again. Sorry." 

Akira's shadow shook his head, eyes closed.

"I needed you. I still do. You hide me away. I can always stand behind your confidence and pretend I can do anything. Then, just like that, I can."

"I don't hide you because I think you're worthless." He pulled away and looked at Akira. Soft features, lithe body dressed in his school uniform. Caring, understanding Akira. "I hide you away because you're good. You still have something gentle about you that I'd fight teeth and nails to keep intact. You still have a heart." 

"You have one too." His twin gently offered back. "You were terrified when Ryuji disappeared at Shido's, gripping the lifeboat hard enough to make your knuckles go white."

"It might have been you." A slight smile, a tad too sorrowful to be his patented smirk. 

"It might have been you too." A small smile, a tad too cheeky to be his soft smile. 

They seemed to come to some sort of understanding, but they didn’t share it. Something in the air between them was softer, though, as if they could stand each other in a way they couldn’t before.

The other thieves approached slowly, and they seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion in their previous conversation, because they were looking at the twins with a renewed perspective.

Yusuke was the first to speak up.

"The same chapel is entirely different if you look at it in the early morning or at the setting sun. Isn't that so?" 

Ryuji frowned, not entirely grasping the analogy. He opened up his mouth to question it, but Makoto continued Yusuke’s streak.

“When you shot down the fake God, you didn’t have your mask on.” She added, faintly, realization slowly dawning on her. “It was always you, wasn’t it? Taking all the risks, putting all of your heart on our mission.”

Joker’s mask clacked as it fell on the floor. He smiled, and it was Akira’s soft smile. In fact, he was all Akira, just sitting there in different clothes. 

Akira too was cocky, and reckless, and brave. Joker was quiet, and uncertain too. Depending on what was needed of him, he showed one side more than others, but they were all true. 

“I’m not exactly any of my masks, but I’m all of them, taken as a whole. Every mask shows a facet, truthful, but not absolute.” He passed by his twin, hiding him from view, before stepping away to reveal nothing. He stood there, alone, unmasked.

“It was me taking most of the unnecessary risks. I am like this. When I’m hurt and upset I make it up with adrenaline and self destructive behaviour. I take chances with my life.” Akira looked straight at them. “It’s not just Joker. Joker is just me when I’m not being bullied into silence because of my record. It’s me when I just have death looming over me, and not all the complicated stuff like being accepted, like being loved. When I can hide part of my face, and relish in that small privacy, in the small illusion that my feelings are hidden enough and no one will hurt me.” He stopped for a moment, thoughtful. “If anything, I’m  _ less  _ reckless when I’m Joker, because there I have real power, I can fight back. In real life I can’t, but I still take whatever risks and put my life in risk.” He took a deep breath. “This is who I am. I am anxious, and quiet, but I’m also a showoff. I am cocky because I know I do a lot of things well. I know how to push people’s buttons, and I like it. It’s not… It’s not as contradictory as I made it look.” He looked away, conflicted. “I just… sometimes I wondered if I could just hide behind Joker’s mask forever, and no one would know. But I know, deep down, one can’t exist without the other.”

He sat down, picking up his mask, looking at it for a moment. It was smooth and cool to the touch, and it fit comfortably on his face. The black ink around the eyes always helped hide his gaze, and his expression. It was freeing using it. It was also difficult. It felt cathartic being able to take it and lash out with his heart, take the stubborn feeling on his chest saying ‘this is wrong’, and shout it to the world, and fight to change it. Renouncing that mask, and that world broke his heart in ways it hadn’t been broken before, and how rare was that.

Sometimes, he wondered if things would be better if he could just feel one hundred percent Joker, the Joker everyone saw, fearless and determined. But he was still breaking in so many ways even walking down Palaces, cocking his gun against shadows, smirking at insane drops of height. He was still too cocky and too daring in his daily life, and if he could just keep Joker under the wraps and stop taking risks he shouldn’t, if he could stop feeling angry at the injustice he saw and speaking out of turn and not accomplishing anything.

But he couldn’t. He was both of the worlds, with all the joy and pain that came with being Akira, and Joker. 

“I couldn’t let you access those memories if you couldn’t tell that Akira feels like Joker. That meek and quiet Akira is strong as well, that he’s still your leader, and he’s just as fearless.” His voice was soft. “I know you all respond differently to me when I have my mask, and I know I act more unrestrained then. But you have to understand Joker is not as invincible, and Akira is not as harmless.”

He stood up again, but his gaze was far away.

“He blocked out these memories because they were too painful, yes. But also because he feels like they’re shameful. It shows him scared, and definitely not in control of the situation. But you have to understand that  _ Akira _ lived through that interrogation.  _ Akira _ survived it.” Grey eyes turned to them, almost pleading for them to understand. “He didn’t have the mask then, and he barely had his own thoughts. It was him scared and vulnerable. It’s him that’s shameful. I couldn’t let you see it if you didn’t understand that everything you admire about Joker isn’t something apart from Akira. Your fearless leader in the metaverse is the same person sitting through classes.” 

“Joker can be an excuse for him to act as he would like, but you have to understand that Akira is always bold and reckless. I couldn’t let you see Akira that vulnerable if you were just going to see it as him being helpless and meek. It would… I don’t know if we could take it.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “We’re already too ashamed to bear you guys pitying us, thinking we’re always that weak and that helpless when we don’t have Joker as our facade and refuge. I needed to know you still thought Akira worthy of respect, and that you would understand even if he looked weak, and that wouldn’t change your opinion about him.” Something passed through his expression, hardening his features into bitter regret. “We know how it really only takes one misstep to lost people’s…”  _ Love. _ He didn’t finish the sentence, but it hung heavily on the air. He shook his head. “Or maybe it really only takes one misstep for you to find out the truth.” He looked away at that, jaw clenched. 

There was a lot unsaid in that small sentence, and they wished, fervently, they knew exactly what he was talking about. They had an inkling that it was about his parents, but they didn’t know enough to completely understand what he meant.

“Akira.” Futaba’s voice was small and trembling. “I know how horrible it is to try and trust people again, after… after some things happen to us.” She couldn’t make herself say it clearly, but they knew she also had been in the hands of really bad people. “But I really want to ask you to give us a chance. We would have died by your side. We trusted you with everything. Please, trust us back this time.”

He was silent for a long time.

“I’m already trusting you, I think. You have managed to convince several shadows already to open up to you. If you hadn’t earned this much trust already you wouldn’t be able to find me.” He looked around the row of cells, the secluded place no one should ever see, not even Akira himself. “Or to make the shadows accept being touched.” That, too, had been a slow progress. He knew previous shadows had been far more skittish, but the group had worked up their way into making him trust them with more and more. 

“I-it’s just…” He paused, a shaky sigh passing his lips before shaking his head and dismissing what he was going to say. “You’ll find out about everything, eventually. There’s no time.” He gestured to the cell behind him, urging them to go on. 

When they passed by him, though, he spoke up again.

“It’s not… It’s not that bad, honestly. It’s just… shameful.” He found himself anxiously explaining. “I should have had a grip. I knew things wouldn’t be easy. I was just…” He took a deep breath, giving up on trying to justify his actions. He still had trouble fighting off that urge. 

“Just go.”

The cell behind him opened.

“Wait, before we go in, I have a question.” Makoto turned to Ryuji. “When have you figured out that Akira really feels like Joker, and that Joker wasn’t just a sort of separate alter ego?”

“What. Seriously, guys, what. He tells cheeky stuff all the time! They’re clearly the same?? Akira dealt with Yakuza, and he is the crazy person who’d accept shady drug trials. He is that smug bastard even outside of the metaverse.” Ryuji hotly argued. “I mean, of course, it is kind of a shield or something, I guess, because now we know he was scared, and he was just trying to look tough so he could survive, but… He just keeps quiet when we’re out of the metaverse because people are out to get him for his record, ‘s all. I should know it, people are out to get me at school too, even if I don't have it as bad as him.” He scowled, also seemingly embarrassed at being the center of the conversation. “And I have no idea what an alter ego is, by the way.”

“Sometimes the simpler answers are closest to the truth,” Yusuke mused aloud. 

Shadow Joker smiled softly. 

“You can look at this row of cells now. I won’t stop you. But keep in mind those memories are a bit vicious, and it’s dangerous to mess with them carelessly.” He said, and started to walk away.

“Aren’t you staying?” Haru asked.

“I’m the closest to the manifestation of his rebellion, and that’s what protected him for so long. I may not be needed here anymore, but there’s other places I could go to help not to fall apart.” He looked sorrowful for a moment, and they felt around the room his feelings echo. He knew he was in for a mission he might not accomplish. “I’ll try and hold the fort for you all.” He smiled, and his words were their leader, through and through.

They felt keenly his absence when his long coat disappeared into the darkness. It was always difficult doing this without their leader, him and the way he would face his impossible fate and just refuse to bend, the way he would walk on the lead and sometimes look back to check on them. 

“Let’s do this, guys.” Morgana rasped out, and they shuffled closer to one of the cells.

“Isn’t there any shadows inside?” Ann asked, trying to peek into the cells, but was only met with darkness. Usually they could see a shadow sitting inside, but it was too dark to discern anything. 

“There isn’t.” They almost jumped out of their skins as Akira’s voice sounded behind them. They turned to look, fearing for a moment who would be standing there, if they would have to see another Akira even more hurt and miserable. 

But it was just the shadow they left behind, bruised and exhausted, on the previous cell. It must have felt the blockage gone and went to them.

“Why is that?” Ann hesitantly asked as soon as they gained some composure back.

“I think it’s because _ I _ should be inside. I think… I don’t know.” He shook his head, trying to put together the pieces of his broken understanding. “But I know that if I was there, he would remember what happened. And if he remembered, he would…” he hesitated again. He didn’t know what would happen, but he knew it would be bad. He didn’t know why he was certain of this, but he knew that memory was his responsibility. He was born out of this.

“It might be for the best if you come with us, then?” Futaba offered. The shadow hesitated a little, something akin to terror crossing his features briefly before he schooled his expression and followed then. 

An immediate and horrifying sensation of drowning in their surroundings enveloped them as soon as they stepped inside. The walls appeared to be moving, twisting terribly until something clicked, and the room was flooded with a bright and artificial white light.

They were in the police station, and they could see Akira standing behind a glass, holding up a sign with numbers on it. 

His face was unblemished as he got his mug shot taken, glasses off and steel in his eyes, head held up high as he stared into the camera. Even out of his Metaverse outfit he still had that defiant conviction, that dignified air around him. Exactly how Joker sometimes had this soft gaze, something almost vulnerable on his face when he contemplated a choice, seconds before he was back to his usual grin. 

His many masks blended into each other, and it was easier to see how then, it was easier to understand what he meant when he said every one of his masks were true, but how they never really knew him. 

He was handcuffed again, and was pulled by two bulky officers all the way to an underground room. He hissed as the metal began to cut into his wrists, his arms bended behind his back in a painful angle. The thieves followed him, having to chase his back as it retreated. 

They had watched other memories, but it had felt more like seeing something out of a screen, tridimensional, but not this realistic. The shadows guarding the memories just showed them the images, jumping through moments of time without a warning. But here they had to chase Akira, dimly aware of the nothingness around the edges of what Akira had seen. They followed him, the only open path being the one he trailed, as if the reality they were standing in was made entirely of what he remembered about that day. Yusuke reached up to a wall, but his hand went through. The memory was oddly real, but they found that they couldn’t touch anything inside. 

The walk seemed to go on forever, and the cuffed boy tried really hard not to show how scared he was. He knew the plan, he knew he had to convince Sae of his innocence so he could have a chance, but there were lots of things he'd have to improvise. 

For starters, when exactly was she going to come to the police station? And what exactly should he do before she got there? From where should he start when he gets to talk to her? The odds were definitely not in his favour. The plan was good but it was rushed and half assed in lots of points, and he had to compensate for it somehow. He had to stay calm and do his thing. 

It was going to be fine. 

He was shoved into a room, empty of anything except for a metal desk and a chair pushed to the back of the room. Someone grabbed his arm and forced him into the chair. Then, they were pulling his bounded arms around the back of it, and he bit out a cry as he bent forward to give room for his shoulders to roll. They let up when he had his hands behind the chair, shoulders aching from being forced, this close to being dislocated from their socks. 

Then, without a word, they left, leaving him startled and apprehensive. No one told him what was to be done to him, and it added to his fear. The room was secluded, underground and clearly meant for special sorts of interrogations. 

No one would hear if he screamed. 

He shook his head and tried to dismiss the cold dread in his gut. He was being unreasonable. The police probably just wanted to scare him with that little show. Sae would still come to see him, Akechi had openly said they were going to let the prosecution interrogate him before the detective murdered him. The police would probably pressure him now into talking, but they wouldn’t do anything unreasonable knowing that a prosecutor would be seeing their suspect later on.

He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself, his expression tensing up briefly from the pain on his wrists.

Why was he handcuffed like that when he had been cooperating? And when would they let him out? His shoulders hurt and his chest was starting to hurt too, tension piling up at the strain to breathe in that position. The minutes ticked by, and it grew more difficult for him to hold still when everything about that angle started to hurt. 

He looked up, noticing the security camera blinking. They were watching, probably waiting for some reaction of his part. A signal that he was close to break. A weakness to explore. 

He schooled his face into blankness, and did not give into the impulse of adjusting his arms to remedy the blood circulation that had been cut off. There was a twitch of his lips as he clenched his teeth and kept quiet. His heart was beating holes against his ribcage as he forced his breathing into even patterns. He just had to keep calm and not let himself be swept up in their mind games. 

Maybe if he looked really unbothered they'd leave him alone more time. He thought he had read something about leaving suspects long periods of time alone, so they'd get nervous and slip up at the interrogation. 

He just needed to buy himself more time until Sae decided to show up, and that would minimise the amount of time he'd have to stay with the police officers. 

It would be fine. 

His fingers went entirely white, cold and numb, and it was really a strain to breathe. 

One of his arms went numb eventually, and he bit down on his lip, trying to focus on other things.

They infiltrated the palace at 6pm. He had been caught at around 8pm, according to the clock on the casino. It was relatively early, but as the minutes went by, there was a sinking feeling on the pit of his stomach that Sae might not come that night at all. There could have been some hold up, his case was kind of high profile but... well, she wasn't his biggest fan. She wouldn't care if he was left alone in the hands of the police for one night. 

At least he had some training when it came to not eating for long periods of time. 

Then, the door opened again, and two men entered the room. His heart was pounding, and he stopped breathing for a second there. 

The shadow by their side inhaled sharply, eyes unfocused as he stared blankly at the scene. The officers passed through them, and it was an odd feeling, like being a ghost, but shadow Akira didn’t even blink. 

“I… I wasn’t ready,’ he whispered, almost as an afterthought, as if he was reciting something someone told him, but he, himself hadn’t known before. But he was certain, somehow, that those were his memories, that he was a shadow born out of this moment. That he was just kept away from it, so Akira wouldn’t have to remember it, ever. 

Ann opened her mouth to question it, but Makoto cut her off with a gesture. The officers were speaking.

“It's him, huh?” 

One rough hand grabbed his face, fingers digging into the sides of it, forcing him to look up. He snarled, and tried to bite the officer. He regretted it only slightly as the action seemed to amuse the man.

“Feisty. But we have a long night ahead, kid. You will talk.” 

"They still don’t have the confession ready for him to sign, so they said we could just do whatever, and see if he says anything useful. We’ve got the good stuff also. I think they expect it to be hard to get the brat to spit out what he knows." 

The other guard scoffed. 

“I don't think we will really need it.” He came up close to Akira’s face, who, despite his best efforts, flinched a little. “He's scared.” A pleasant smile. “Aren't you, pretty boy?” 

They knew he was. He was terrified, but his eyes hardened, and he glared at his captors, sharply. He was a bit at a disadvantage, his much smaller body cuffed to a chair, but the stubbornness was Akira through and through. He never really knew when to quit.

It didn't help his situation, at all. Not that Akira was good at self preservation, but it was bad for their hearts the things he did sometimes. 

One bulky arm reached for his throat, and suddenly, he couldn't breathe. His airways were painfully closed, his lungs burned and his eyes watered as he tried to get away. 

“Careful, brat. You won't get very far with this attitude.” 

The hand let go, and he coughed, wheezing, dragging in ragged breaths. 

“You’d think he would be something else. But it’s just a kid.”

Akira bit down the  _ fuck you _ building on his throat, but his gaze was even more stubborn and defiant. He was scared, heart thumping a bruise inside his chest, but he was also too proud for his own good, and definitely not good with authority. They wouldn’t do anything too bad with him anyway, not before Sae showed up, and he wasn’t bowing to these people. He was already in deep trouble anyway, and there was nothing really he  _ could  _ do to make it better. No reason for him to go out of his way to be polite. 

"Are you ready to start talking now, brat?"

He glared and opened his mouth to answer something very rude, but was immediately cut off by a blinding pain in his jaw, mouth and teeth, whole vision blurring as his head snapped to the side. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva that tasted like blood. His slow thoughts were starting to pierce together the fact that he had been punched square in the face, his cheekbone hurting like hell and back, when a swift kick to his ribs threw him on the floor, leaving him reeling. There was an odd sound followed by a sharp pain at his side which left him entirely out of air. He tried to suck in a breath, but pain flared up at his chest. 

He tried to move, but gasped at the pain on his hip bone which told him exactly how hard he had hit the floor with it. It was pure agony, and he wasn't looking forward to the bruise that was going to be. He had a cut on the inside of his mouth, and his ribs hurt. Each breath brought along a new wave of pain. 

“We have the whole night, son. You will end up talking, you know.”

He just shook his head, biting down on his lip. He couldn't say anything. That was important. Sae. The phone. Akechi. Murderer. Not a suicide. 

“Well, I guess we should use our tools.”

He tried to will his panic to die down, because there was no point in letting himself be dragged by their little games. 

One officer started rolling up his school uniform’s sleeve. Panic flooded his lungs, and he desperately tried to understand what was going on. The other officer went back to the desk, opening a small case. Akira still didn’t understand what was happening, but he tried to make himself breathe slower, tried to convince himself there was no reason to panic because they wouldn’t go too far anyway, and he just had to keep calm and wait for Sae.

The officer turned around, and something gleamed in the sickly white light of the room.

The boy's eyes widened, his breath hitching as he stared at the syringe, cold dread gripping his guts. They wouldn’t...

He struggled against the man as he held him down and forced the syringe against his pulse, on the inside of his arm. The liquid burned as it invaded his vein, and he freaked out, thrashing around on the floor until the vial was empty. The violent movement made his vein get torn open, blood slowly seeping under his skin in what would be a very ugly and quite painful to touch bruise. 

The drug kicked in fast, seconds probably, and his terror escalated, as he started to feel out of control of his own body. His mind felt hazy, and his limbs were heavier, anxiety gripping his guts. He had thought they would at least try and pretend they were acting according to the law before Sae showed up. How were they…? Why weren’t they worried about being found out? Had Sae given up on interrogating him?

“So. Those friends of yours...?” prompted a voice to his left.

"I don't know! What do you want from me?!" He pulled against his restraints, the metal having gone warm from his skin long ago, cutting into it as he pulled his hands in a frenzy. Nothing made any sense and he couldn't feel things right. 

"Why can't you damn punk talk? This is all you have? This pathetic show? You know we have all night, don't you? We'll let you go if you just start to talk." 

No! Sae, he had to tell her! If she showed up, no, she  _ would _ show up. He couldn't tell anything to anyone else, he-

"Why is it that you still won't tell us anything?" There was a pause, a pensive one. “Or… maybe you’re pretty tough and can take much more than we think.” 

He was curling inwards, shielding his ribcage, so he was caught off guard when someone stepped hard on his cuffed hands. He actually cried out at that, the sharp, agonizing pain shot up his arms and he struggled on the slippery tiles, trying to move away. The tiny bones on his wrists protested under the assault, the metal making the hit land much harder.

They rolled him over and he had to stare at the guards, back entirely onto the cold floor. He kept an alert eye on them, breathing unevenly at the pain in his wrist, but swallowing down the sobs he could feel building up in his throat. His eyes were bright beneath his mussed hair, keen on every movement made, and, unfortunately for him, with too much fight in them yet. 

"Damn delinquent must be messing with drugs for a while,” one officer scoffed. Makoto had seen too many law reinforcers. She knew that type. He thought delinquents and criminals were less than human, and his distaste was clear. “We should just give him some more,” the way he said, uncaring about doses, uncaring about how long they should wait until the effects started to show...

Akira actively struggled at that, desperate to get away, away-

“Wait. Wasn’t it the other guys who were going to use the serum on him?”

“Shit. I forgot we changed shifts. Well, he can clearly take more. And it’s not like anyone cares about whatever happens to him.” Akira stilled briefly at that, and his expression was eerily blank. That last sentence hit him too close to home, and he needed a moment to swallow down the hurt. He really didn’t have the time to think about Sojiro now. 

It’s been months since the old man had said he didn’t care if Akira got himself killed, and there was no reason to keep being a baby about it. Just because he might die in the next few hours, and Sojiro might not even mind it, really, that wasn’t a reason good enough to start crying in front of the police.

He teared up anyway. The defiance in his chest dimmed, and, for the first time, he wondered why he was trying so hard. Why he couldn’t just quit for once in his life. 

Ryuji felt a cold hand on his, and he looked to the side to find shadow Akira looking away from the memory, his shaking hand gripping his tightly, as the blond had done before, in a cell that felt so far away now. It made him wonder how much affection Akira actually wanted to get, but only really trusted to ask for what had already been offered. So he wouldn’t be refused. 

The blond began to rub circles on the back of the shadow’s hand, and continued to watch the scene in front of him, tearing up so badly he wasn’t sure who was comforting who anymore. 

Akira whimpered when they tried to pick a vein exactly on the same spot as before, the needle poking around and stirring more pain from the spot they'd torn up before. He violently trashed on the ground, until someone grabbed his head and slammed it into the table. The impact made his ears ring loudly. He stopped struggling as the hit rattled his brain, dull pain confusing him long enough to get him thrown on the ground, held face down, a knee digging onto his back as he was given another shot.

He could only give out a weak moan at that, pain written in every line of his young face, tears finally slipping past his self control. The thieves all tried very hard to ignore the frankly predatory look one of the officers sent his way. 

"N-no... I don't want to." Akira sobbed, curling inwards on the cold floor. His black strands were partially hiding his face, flushed from crying and struggling. 

“Aw. This little kid does cry.” One guard was smiling at that, and Akira hated himself for having let that happen, for losing control and letting them see him like that. The burning sting of tears still rolling down his face added to his shame, and he looked down to hide it. 

Someone stepped down hard on his hands again, and he whimpered as he felt something twinge, agonizing pain choking him. 

There was a kick on his side, hard enough to make him slide down across the floor half a meter. He was wheezing as he tried to breathe through the pain.

Someone kicked him in the head, and everything went dark. 

Passing out had been a bliss. 

Waking up, not so much.

Shocking cold water rushed into his mouth, into his nose, and he was choking, drowning. It was almost winter, of course it was freezing, but it still came as a shock to his body, that broke into shivers. His throat burned from choking on the water.

The thieves watched as he heaved, coughing up water, each cough weaker than the previous one. Each movement was excruciating for his battered body, but those people forced him to do it anyway, to trash and throw up, jostling all of his wounds. His thick hair was soaked, dripping sluggishly. That was going to take forever to dry.

They felt sick as they realized that the angle his head was tilted almost made him drown, and that has been intentional. They knew exactly what they were doing. They had every step down to a routine.

Akira pulled in a deep breath, feeling as it stuttered on his lips, the cold stunting its progress. The slight current of air in the room was enough to make him feel like he had been dumped into ice. He took a moment to stare longingly at the water on the floor. He was parched, dry lips cut open at the bottom, numb hands itching to soothe the twinge on his ribs. 

“Ready to talk about your friends?”

“No.” His voice was painfully hoarse from when he choked, but he was still so stubborn.

"Cheeky brat, we have been so nice to you." 

They collectively looked away for a moment, because none of them wanted to see any more of that. They didn’t want to see what more had happened.

"Don't you think that's overboard?" One officer was saying, and they all turned back to look, alarmed. One guard was eyeing the combat knife his colleague took off his belt. Akira was struggling on the floor, making small trapped sounds that were painful to hear. 

"We won’t have to hurt him if he cooperates.” He said that, staring into the wide eyes of the boy on the floor. “And if a small accident happens, no one will notice, we can do it under his clothes. Maybe he'll start talking then." He said, but it wasn't difficult to see he was having a twisted sort of fun with it. How he didn't care much about the confession, but he liked kicking people weaker than him, making them bleed. It was a thrill, and the boy gave such honest reactions. They were used to interrogating high profile criminals, and most of them were seasoned adults who generally had an idea about interrogation methods. Never a naive kid, scared and crying.

Akira saw the approaching sharp blade on the officer’s hand and immediately panicked. 

Shadow Akira whimpered, closing its eyes. Ryuji kept looking in his stead. If Akira had lived through it for them, he owed him to at least watch. He didn’t know who was trembling more in their tight handhold. Futaba had already taken to crying into her hands, and Ann was furiously staring at the floor. 

She closed her eyes as she heard the first real scream Akira let out. Ryuji was still watching.

There was a slow, searing line being drawn across Akira’s belly, and he was crying out at the sharp pain. The cut was shallow, clearly meant to hurt and not to maim, but God, did it  _ hurt _ . The blood dripped slowly from the wound, nothing life-threatening, but it burned horribly. His breathing was entirely out of control, and he was shaking badly. 

The plan, he had to- 

The knife moved closer again, and he flinched, shutting his eyes and trying to break the hold they had on him, but to no avail. 

The blade was dragged down on his skin slowly, and he screamed at the burn, struggling against his captors, heart pounding in his chest. In a split of a second, the damp metal of his handcuffs slipped from the officer’s hold, and he jerked away. The tip of the blade breached slightly deeper at one point that could almost be seen with his school blazer on, and he cried out, trying to turn away and hide from the pain. He hissed, feeling something warm dampening his shirt. 

One officer violently pushed a hand down on it, making him choke, but the blood began to flow slower. His hands were yanked by another man, holding him down again. He stood there for minutes that felt like a lifetime, until the pressure stopped and they covered him up again, probably deciding he was too wild to sit still enough for that. And they would be in deep if they killed him by accident. 

The hem of his clothes covered the damage. The snowy white of his turtleneck now had a clear spot of bright red, spreading slowly. His blazer was dark enough not to stain when it was pulled over it, and his clothes were too damp for him to know if the bleeding stopped or not. He vaguely hoped it did.

From then on there was a blur, his ears were roaring and he couldn't focus, but the pain was getting worse, his body was being dragged across the room at some point, and there were more punches, and kicks, but everything amounted to just a pile of agony he couldn't really pick apart. His muddled thoughts couldn’t quite tell him if he was just stunned or if he had gone blind. Maybe he just couldn’t coordinate enough to open his eyes through most of it. He couldn’t breathe either. Or if he did, he didn’t feel it. He felt like he was suffocating.

He must have passed out again at some point, because next thing he knew he was being slapped awake by a different set of people. 

What time was it? The night seemed endless. 

“There was a mix up with the papers, but we have the confession the high ups want him to sign.”

“The guys from the previous shift worked for nothing then.” A dismissive huff, and the thieves wanted to set everything on fire. “It never mattered what he was going to say. They already got what they wanted pinned to him since the start.” 

Akira wasn’t paying the least amount of attention. He just distantly noted he was still on the floor. Did that mean he had just passed out, or they just hadn’t bothered to move him for some time? The thing about passing out, he thought idly, entirely out of his mind, was that he couldn’t really tell how much time had gone by. Sleep was different, there was quite a difference between a fifteen minute nap and a full eight hour sleep. But losing consciousness? Not a clue. 

He was startled out of his useless thoughts by rough hands manhandling the mass of agony that was currently his body. He moaned in pain, head lolling sideways as he was moved. He was nauseated, mouth watering, stomach rolling, and he couldn’t even think of moving. Did he have a concussion? Wait, no, those things happened if you got hit in the head. 

Had he been hit in the head? He couldn’t recall.

“Will you sign this for us, kid?”

Akira dazedly shook his head, but they knew, because that was his heart, that he didn’t have much more in him to keep refusing. He’d break, and he would sign that confession. They’ve seen to it.

“Figured as much. We should work on convincing him.”

“C’mon, get me those syringes.”

He kicked out weakly, but was subdued in no time. He felt his body being forced to sit up, and he could only stare at his own lap as his head lolled forward. There was a shot, this time on the pulse on his neck, and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

Boy, he was starting to get really out of it. 

Makoto felt her stomach drop to her feet as he finally understood. Her sister’s impassive face at the state she found a kid in police custody. Her words. She knew almost exactly how long the drug would last so the drug couldn’t be new. So they should know how much to give him. Two sets of people tried injecting him, and that was why he was barely coherent by the time he signed his confession. They almost overdosed him. The spotty memory shouldn’t have been a desirable effect, they'd want him to remember everything. But now everything made sense. They didn’t particularly care if he remembered or not, because they already had the confession printed out. Akechi would kill Akira on that day no matter what he confessed or not. The drugs and the beating up was just a show for the prosecution. So it would look like they wanted information from him. It would seem like they didn’t know the whole scheme from the inside out. Like they didn’t know the leader of the phantom thieves would die in that room. 

It was so much worse than they had thought. Sae had taken too long to come over. He had been downright tortured all night, and had to carry out their stupid plan of telling stories and convincing a cold hearted persecutor while almost overdosing and most definitely concussed. 

Makoto wanted nothing more than to look away, but she caught Ryuji’s eyes, never ever looking away despite the tears running down his face, loyalty carved in every suppressed sob, and she did the same. Someone had to look, and not all of the thieves could do it as well. She knew how to push her feelings aside, how to set her jaw and push back, and it was the least she could do. 

It was horrible. The memory felt all consuming, she could taste Akira’s dread, she could feel her own chest vibrating with his frayed breaths, her own hands trembling with the drug high. 

Akira was too far gone. His legs shook so much he could hardly feel them, and his hands were giving out involuntary jerks every now and then. He felt so sick he wasn’t even struggling anymore. He was more of a puppet with its string cut than anything human. It was like trying to make a corpse move, making his limbs obey his will. 

He remembered Ohya, and he remembered his oolong tea, upgraded until he was drinking scotch. A firm voice, reminding him of how to think, how to keep himself safe even if his mind was foggy, even if his limbs weren't working as he wanted them to. He barely looked up as the confession was offered to him again.

"I don't have to sign anything." His voice was deep, a bit hoarse and empty, like he was reciting something instead of saying what was on his head. 

Sae. He couldn't tell anything to anyone besides her. He could only think of this. He fixated on this idea, and let everything else slip through his fingers. He didn't have enough in himself to keep track of any more than that one idea. 

He couldn't know yet, but it worked. He kept wanting to tell Sae his story throughout all her accusations, after all the hard slamming of a fist on the table. He remembered he had to tell her, he'd have to trust her, even when she yelled at him and when she reminded a teenager he'd be most likely sentenced to death. After she tried to make him sell out his friends. Even if he ended up breaking and signing his confession. It would work, he just didn't know yet. 

But he knew it worked just right to keep his mouth shut when they slapped him again, frustrated at him and his lack of cooperation. It gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction, and he grinned without realizing it.

"Little shit, thinks he's so smart. Hold him up." 

There was a blur, and a violent hook to his stomach, just over where he had been cut open. He vomited on the spot. 

"Shit." A disgusting wet splashing sound." Shit." Again, as the boy heaved, throwing up a little more. He didn’t have much in him, honestly. 

"You go clean this shit up, we still have some time with him and I don’t want this stench." 

He was yanked out of the way as someone passed by him, probably to clean up the mess, but he wasn't sure. 

Nausea aside, his stomach hurt badly, as well as his chest. In hindsight, maybe his head hurt the most, throbbing next to his temple, where he may or may not have been kicked. It was getting hard to tell. The places where he hadn't been hurt were getting fewer by the minute. He couldn’t fucking think. The only thing he knew was that he wanted it to stop. 

The arms holding him up let go, and he went sprawling on the ground, his legs trembling too much for him to even consider standing up. He couldn't use his arms to support him up either, bounded as they were behind his back. He lay on the floor, bleeding cheek against the cold tiles. He closed his eyes. It felt good, the coolness of the tiles numbing slightly his face, taking off the sharp edge of pain. If only he could just stop feeling the way his ribcage hurt with each inhale. 

_ Please, just let me sleep. I can't do this anymore.  _

The tip of a shoe moved his head to point upwards, to look at what would be the ceiling, if he had his eyes open. He hadn’t. The world was starting to fade away again, and he was about to let it. He was hauled up, but he was more of a dead weight than anything.

“Sit him down again. He can’t fucking stand and I won’t hold him up anymore. Little shit struggles like a rabid animal.”

One officer punched him hard on his jaw, landing a very solid hit now the boy was sitting again. 

Akira’s head snapped to the side and he didn’t look up again. 

They slapped him once, and then twice, hard, his head lolling with the impulse. 

No response. 

“This shit… Get me another bucket.”

The memory must be coming to its end, then. They had seen that exact scene before, it was where his memory of the interrogation room should start, after everything he blocked out. They’ve seen a few moments after that scene, with the shadow by their side. The memory would end as soon as he was forcibly awake. 

“Wake him up.” 

The shadow besides them gave out a blood curdling cry at that, falling to its knees and clutching its head. 

"No, no, no..." he kept whispering, hands on his own hair to pull at it, curling into himself. 

The room shifted slightly, and the men stared straight at them. 

"How are they seeing us?!"

"Isn't this a memory?!" 

Before they could recover from the shock, one bulky arm was reaching for Akira's shadow and pulling him roughly by the hair, throwing him on the ground and kicking him. At once, all of the thieves were yelling over each other.

"How is he doing that?!" 

"He blocked out this memory even from himself, it's too strong of a memory and it's pulling him in!” 

“It’s taking all of us in, I can touch things inside here now!”

“Which means they can also get to us?”

“Forget us, what will happen to that shadow?! We still haven’t talked properly to him!”

“It's too much for him to take, I think it's traumatic enough to break any form of his cognitive beings here!” 

"We shouldn't have brought him here then!" 

"We don’t have the time to find culprits! We have to save him, or this memory will destroy all of him now we unleashed it!" 

There was a sickening cracking sound as a booted foot stepped on Akira's thin torso, and, just like that, he was screaming. They turned to the origin of the sound, and their hearts almost stopped.

When Akira looked up, the bruises were already on his face, and his hair was dripping wet. Exactly the same as the Akira who was enduring all of that long night in the memories. Glazed eyes, trembling all over. A loop. 

But that Akira wasn't as focused, he didn't remember steeling himself for this. He was the trembling boy who blocked all of these memories away, shut them close and threw away the key. His hands hung loosely in front of him, useless.

When he was yelled at again, he flinched hard, a whimper building in his throat. 

Futaba reacted first to the sound, running to his side with a strangled cry. Ryuji reacted second, his ears still ringing from Akira’s scream, moving before his thoughts caught on the action, putting himself between the officer and his two friends. 

Abused kids probably understood quicker, knew firsthand how to flinch like that at a booming voice. 

Futaba knew all the ins and outs of a panic attack, she knew how to approach, how to make herself look as unthreatening as possible, and she was ready to talk him out of it.

Ryuji just knew how to put himself in harm's way, and he was always ready to be there to shield someone he cared from the heavy hand of a grown man. He reached them just in time to get clocked on the jaw, taking a hit that was meant to Akira.

It solidly hurt, which was good to prove their theory that they were pulled in so deep into the memory they could get hurt, but it was also horrible because it felt absolutely real and Ryuji couldn’t silence the grunt of pain he let out. 

Akira reacted to that, and badly. He lunged, trying to reach him, only to be stopped by Futaba’s thin arms pushing him back 

“No, let go…” his breaths were coming in pained gasps, panicked. He struggled weakly but did not manage to break the hold. His voice was cracking, terrified for them. “They got my friends…” 

“Please, help him calm down!” Morgana called out, running to position his small body in front of the group already shielding Akira. “We might lose him if we let him fall into despair! The rest of us will deal with the guards, you two keep him calm!” he said, wishing, not for the last time, he still had his metaverse body, and all the weapons that came with it. 

The rest of them caught on quickly.

Makoto walked by briskly, and with a violent yank of her arm, she gave a very solid and immensely satisfying punch to one officer's nose. The crunching sound startled the boy on the floor, and Ryuji regretfully turned away from the scene, scooping him into his lap, sitting with his back to Makoto, blocking the view. Akira desperately took a hold of his shirt, squeezing the fabric between the shaking fingers of his right hand, trying to ground himself. Ryuji kept one arm steadying his back, another over his legs, to keep him from bolting and trying to do something stupid. The blond stayed there, sitting cross legged on the cold floor, tense and ready to run away if trouble came too close to them.

Akira was clearly not keen on the fight brewing behind them, tensing up at every harsh sound. They could more or less know what was happening from the shouts across the room.

Morgana was helping them with tactics, since their leader was absolutely out of commission. Ann and Yusuke were backing them up, helping put extra distance between the guards and Akira, pushing the fight to the other end of the room. Haru had picked up the chair and used it to land a wicked blow on the officer's head, watching as he crumpled to the floor. Makoto gave her a thumbs up, and she smiled back sweetly. 

However, the two men stood up again when they shouldn’t, inhumanly strong.

“His panic is making them invincible!” Makoto shouted over her shoulder, sidestepping a punch and delivering one herself. 

Akira whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut as the loud sound reverberated. 

“Hey… Akira, it’s okay, look at me.”

Futaba took off her headphones, slowly showing them to the boy. He stared, alert, waiting, not really understanding, but apparently trusting her small frame enough not to react. When he didn't object, she gently put them over his ears, effectively muffling the sounds. 

Akira looked up, hesitant. It was... nice. How was that happening? He hadn’t noticed how much he wanted a bit of quiet until it was granted to him, and he relaxed slightly. He could still hear, which was good since he really didn’t want to be plundered into silence when he knew things were happening, but the sounds were quieter, less sharp around their edges. Easier to withstand when they weren’t that loud anymore.

He was still shaking with cold, though, water dripping down his chin. Ryuji gently rubbed his arm, trying to warm him up. It was a little more than futile, seeing how drenched he was, enough to damp the blond’s clothes where they touched. Ryuji ran a hand through Akira’s dripping hair, trying to shake off the water the best he could without a towel. It didn’t help much, but Akira made a small pleased sound with the motion. 

Ryuji picked up on it, and carefully kept his fingers away from any bruises, petting his hair softly, enough to help soothe his headache. Akira’s tense posture started to unwind slightly at it, and grey eyes blinked a little too slowly at the gentle touch. 

It would be downright adorable was it not for the fact that every time he drew a breath, it would stutter and tremble. 

"Oh man, wish I still had my hoodie now. He's pretty cold." Ryuji said above him, and his voice shook slightly, betraying the light tone he was going for.

"I can just lend him mine." Futaba’s voice sounded, already taking off her jacket.

"You sure? It's kinda cold here." The blond asked, worried. He knew he himself was chilly, without his hoodie. With the water seeping into his clothes, the coldness of the room was starting to get to him, and he couldn’t ever imagine what Akira must be feeling, drenched as he was.

"But he's colder." She cut in, draping her green jacket over the trembling boy.

"Heh, your coat's so small, I think it won't reach past his waist." The blonde snickered, but moved his hands and tried to help make the fabric cover more of their friend.

"S-shut up! No one asked you!" She pouted, flushing at the reminder of her very short stature. Akira trembled with the new temperature.

"This wouldn't be happening if you hadn't been stupid and handed over your hoodie to the first shadow you saw!" Futaba added, choosing to keep arguing, so she wouldn’t start crying.

"He looked cold!" The blond retorted, as if that justified everything. "How would I know one of them might need it more? And what was I supposed to do? His eyes got all soft when I gave it to him, it'd be pretty lame if I asked for it back." He mumbled, embarrassed. 

"Ohh I see how it is. Ryuji-kun can't resist my brother's pretty eyes." She snickered.

"W-what! I totally can!" 

"Can not. And you didn’t deny you think his eyes are pretty.”

“Y-you’re full of shit, that proves nothing!”

"You should be taking care of him, not bickering!" Mona piped up, walking closer to them. Apparently he had managed to organize the fighting strategy enough, and stepped down when it became clear his smallish body would be more of a weakness than a real help. 

He also considered it wise to break up the small argument brewing between Futaba and Ryuji.

When they looked down though, Akira seemed calmer, watching their altercation with the tiniest upwards sweep of his lips, something too fragile to be called amusement, but close enough to fondness. His hand holding the blonde's shirt didn't have a death grip on it anymore, even if he didn't let go either. 

Ryuji went to grab his other hand, but halted as a stealthy tuxedo cat jumped on his leg, peering at the injured boy on his lap with a worried frown. His small ears flattened to his head, very blue eyes watered, and stared downwards.

"Come here." The cat was startled out of his thoughts by a quiet voice. Akira was looking at him, looking as tired as his whisper had sounded, but his voice was gentle.

Slowly, small paws stepped on Akira’s thigh, halting and pulling away at a hiss of pain. 

"No, it's fine. Come here." He mumbled, voice a bit hoarse, so tired, pain tensing up his features. But there was a hint of vulnerability to his words, something pleading in his eyes, and his cat moved, gingerly walking until he could lie curled up onto the boy's lap. He reached for the small cat with the hand he wasn't using to grip Ryuji’s shirt, and Morgana desperately tried not to cry at seeing the violent bruising on his wrists up close.

Akira buried his fingers on soft fur, a shaky exhale leaving his lips as he relaxed into the feeling. He usually felt guilty for wanting to pet Mona as a cat, for how sensitive the creature was about not being human. But Akira was a cat person and on the rare occasions he could, he had loved the feeling of petting the small creature, how warm and comfortable it was. He let the cat sleep on his bed and on him every time, and he had to confess it made his anxiety easier to tame. 

It made the knot of dread and fear loose slightly. He closed his eyes then, expression softer this time. The pain on his wrists was noticeable, but the cat was wonderfully warm, and his fur felt nice. He sighed, and Ryuji felt his body relax a bit more. 

Mona, who had the softest spot ever for Akira, blinked fast and pretended really hard he wasn't close to crying. The relief at seeing the boy's calmer expression was almost overwhelming. The easy acceptance into his personal space, the silent confirmation that they were important to each other. 

Then, a quiet, soft sound started, and Akira smiled at it, one hand still diligently petting behind black cat ears.

"Dude! Are you purring?" Ryuji, who couldn't keep his mouth shut, pointed out. 

"S-shut it!" a very embarrassed cat replied back, but it didn't stop purring, to Akira's secret delight. "I see you understand nothing of sophisticated techniques! Cat's purrs are supposed to speed up the process of healing," he finally managed, after racking his brain after an excuse for his cuddly behaviour. 

The blond was laughing wetly. "It’s weird, but he seems happy so you should keep going." 

"Humph! Of course he's happy! I-it's because of my refined technique..." The tuxedo cat stuttered, trying so hard to salvage his pride he didn’t notice how his small paws had begun to knead the boy’s clothes, which made said boy feel warm and important in ways he hadn’t felt a lot in his life.

"Pssh, you just like to cuddle with him, you evil cat. Always hogging him, geez." 

"Ohh, I understand now. Someone's jealous." Futaba was having an unhealthy amount of fun with it.

"Of a cat? You wish." The blond retorted, indignant.

Instead of answering, the cat snuggled further into Akira's hand, which prompted the boy to let go of Ryuji's shirt and dedicate all of his two hands' attention to the cat. The infuriating creature sent a haughtily superior look at the blond, beaming at the exclusive attention. 

"Jerk." He mumbled, but accepted his defeat, albeit temporarily. The cat was cute when he wanted to, and Ryuji knew Akira was super attached. There's really no competing against someone's pet. Even if it's not exactly a pet. But well, it might be even easier to get attached to your cat if it talked to you all day, went to the movies with you, and helped you out at school. That, and he had seen in lots of memories how Morgana took good care of Akira, which Ryuji really appreciated. He still felt a bit like competing with him, though. 

But he really could put it aside now, seeing the gentle smile on Akira’s lips as the cat rubbed his head against the hands petting him, trying to force some warmth back into very cold fingers.

Ryuji felt his heart doing something funny in his chest as he kept looking at the soft smile, and so he ended up dropping a kiss on the side of Akira’s head, over damp dark curls. The boy in his lap closed his eyes briefly at the contact, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. There was something vulnerable in his red rimmed eyes as he looked down, conflicted between appreciating the comfort offered and being ashamed of himself for needing it. But this Akira had been torn open with drugs and pain, and he didn’t have the iron grip he usually had to repress his feelings. He was just scared, and hurt, and he trusted the blond not to hurt him. The hug was familiar enough to be comforting, and Akira snuggled more into his best friend’s arms, letting the side of his head lie on a strong shoulder blade. He was still anxious, but he could breathe, trusting the solid build of Ryuji and staying in his arms, not looking up at the guards.

The guards behind them were slowing down, though, and Yusuke picked up the clipboard with the confession from the floor, as well as the pen. Without any more words, he flipped the paper over, and walked to the far back of the room to sit on Ryuji’s side, Akira safely surrounded by his friends. The artist began to sketch on the blank space, and caught the attention of wet grey eyes. He made his movements more paced, more even, and went for something he knew would take some time. Akira’s eyes followed the movements, focusing on the gentle curves of the details, and the bold straight lines of the background, almost in a trance. 

It seemed to be helping him to calm down. Akira needed something to focus on, or else his mind would still keep running in circles, and he liked Yusuke’s sketches. It was soothing, hearing the familiar sound of him drawing, in firm and confidant lines. He kept watching, and Ryuji went back to petting his damp hair. 

They only really noticed the effect they were having on the room when Makoto approached them, tapping lightly Ryuji’s back so he could look at her. 

She looked really refreshed. 

“You got them?” Ryuji asked quietly.

"It was tiring how they always came back up, but it felt awesome punching my frustrations out on them." She had been itching to punch someone for making her friend go through that hell, and it had been amazing having done that. 

Ann smiled at her, and it was clear how she as well was feeling that victorious thing at being able to help Akira and getting some good old revenge. 

"Wish I coulda been there, but you did great." Ryuji smiled approvingly at them, a bit regretful. Everyone knew that, if he hadn’t had a lap full of one Akira clearly in need of comfort, he not only would have joined the fight but he would also be kicking the guards’ teeth in even after they passed out for good measure. 

“You… beat them up?” Akira’s soft question brought him out of his reverie. He had stopped looking at Yusuke’s drawing, and was staring at Makoto. 

She was shaken to the core by the wet sheen on his eyes and the violent bruises on his face. It was even more dreadful up close. Her throat constricted painfully, but she pushed through it and remembered she had fought for him, and he deserved to know it. 

“Yes, we did.” 

Haru smiled as well.

“The best solution is to punch some problems in the face.” Ryuji offered with a shrug. Akira gave a small, amused smile at that, and the blond felt like he could take over the entirety of Japan’s police force alone for him. 

“We can protect ourselves too.” Ann quietly added, kneeling next to them. “Even if you’re not looking, we can still be safe. We’re strong too, so you don’t have to be strong for us alone.” 

Akira looked heartbreakingly relieved at hearing that, and his breathing hitched as he tried to will away the impulse to just start crying. 

“Was it… easy?” he asked, when he found his voice again.

“They were tough, but not that good.” Haru understood what he had been wondering, because she was good at those things. “You’d have been able to take them on, if you weren’t cuffed.”

He gave a small huff at her words, not seeming to fully believe in them, but grateful for the reassurance anyway. For their support. Surprised, but grateful for it. It wasn’t like he didn’t think they would fight for him or comfort him when he was being silly. He was fairly certain they would, it was just that… he could never ask, because there was only so much people should have to take for him. And things were simpler if he could be certain he was being helpful, someone who would be useful to keep around. Never asking too much, never talking too much about himself, unobtrusive and comfortable to be around. Never talking about what really hurt, because this way no one would call him a liar, or say he was exaggerating, or dismiss his feelings, or make him feel guilty for feeling what he felt. It was a matter of self preservation, really.

He honestly wouldn’t know what to do if he started believing again that the people he loved were going to just believe in him, and not hurt him when he was vulnerable. Because he had taken that fall quite a few times and he didn’t want to do it again. 

It was scary, letting other people in again. Not everyone wanted to help, he knew it. Unfortunately, things were like that. It wasn’t because he offered his honest friendship, his concern and his time, that people wouldn’t want him dead. It wasn’t because he tried his best that his parents would love him as he wanted. More than half of the country had wanted him dead. He had a bit of a talent to make people want him dead, he was finding out.

But, right now, everything was okay. For once in his life, he trusted and nothing backfired on him. His friends saw him crying, and clearly making a big deal out of nothing, but somehow none of them was angry with him. They looked upset, but not at him, and while that didn’t entirely make sense, he wasn’t about to point it out. No one was accusing him of anything, and, somehow, in a way he couldn’t quite explain, he felt safe. 

He rested his head against his best friend’s chest, and looked peaceful. His eyes fell shut before he saw Yusuke’s final draft, and his fingers stilled in their petting of Morgana’s fur. His body slackened, and when they realised he was asleep, his figure vanished in small specks of light.

"At this point, he had just wanted to sleep," whispered Futaba, and her voice was falling apart too. 

Ryuji stared at his own lap, where his best friend was, for a long moment, and didn’t say a word about the cat still there. It was better than making the small animal vacate the empty space Akira left, because something in the blond’s chest was too close to breaking and he’d rather take the small companion. 

There was a heavy silence, in which not even Yusuke had the stomach to continue drawing, and they took a moment to digest the grief in their hearts. 

But it was too much for them to get over with in the few minutes they had, and their friend still needed their help. 

“Let’s keep going, guys.” Morgana said, with a voice too hoarse to pretend he hadn’t cried, breaking the silence and leading the way out of the cell. Everyone followed him, because they all had learned to push through pain and keep fighting for something bigger than themselves.

The room around their retreating figures shifted again, and suddenly, it was just a regular cell, draped in velvet and entirely empty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I love the whole Akira and Joker being very separate things, I also wanted to write the idea that Joker is very much Akira, and Akira is very much Joker, all the time. And that, when faced with very crucial actions, aka summoning Satanael and shooting Yadabaolth, Akira lifts his mask, looking like both his daily self and both the phantom thief. It'd be really interesting if he honestly felt like both, and just hesitated sometimes if he shouldn't just pretend he was always Joker. But, as said previously, even when he's posing as Joker, he acts silly and undignified sometimes (see also: the cute flailing arms thing he does when he almost steps in a trap/ the soft and meek gaze he has when he’s debating on an option inside a palace), and Akira is just as crazy and as much of a gambler and risk taker in his daily life (see also: let’s go to this yakuza meeting oh a real gun, untested meds sign me up, etc). 
> 
> Yusuke making art related analogies? My cup of tea alksjdalksj The whole Joker looking like a very different person gives me an impressionism 'this scenary looks like a place entirely different at different times of the day' vibes. And I like the idea of the thieves thinking too hard about the dichotomy between Joker and Akira, and miss the point, while Ryuji keeps it simple and hits the target aksdjadlaskdj
> 
> About the interrogation methods, I’d like to point out his clothes have a very disturbing blood stain pattern (when the camera angles just right you can see blotches of blood under his blazer) on the animation and I had to take that into consideration. About the interrogation itself, doesn’t anyone else notice how entirely pointless beating him up was? I mean, they didn’t want any new information, not really, Akechi knew exactly their MO, and he assured Shido he would kill the other thieves within a reasonable frame of time so no one would get suspicious. So they never even needed Akira to rat out his accomplices. They didn’t need info on his accomplices, nor his method, and not even his hideout, since Akechi could tell them that. They just needed him to sign the pre-made confession (one that would conveniently state he committed whatever crimes they accused him of, so the truth didn't matter), and, even that, they could have just faked his signature. So it comes off to me as more of a show to the prosecution. Sae knew the common procedure, and she would expect Akira to get hurt, because she expected the police to try and get information out of him. Akira, on the other hand, probably didn't know he would getting the shit beat out of him by the police. 
> 
> Also, I really think Akira would end up remembering Sojiro’s cold words to him when he was in such a low point of his life. I mean, he was risking death, and he was alone and scared, it isn’t much of a stretch thinking he might think back on those words, and wonder if they were true. If Sojiro would receive news of his death and not even care. 
> 
> In another note… Am I taking advantage of the fact Ryuji is canonly ripped, and, thus, can pick his boyfriend up when he wants to? Maybe so. asjdalksdjla But come on, where else would they lay down Akira, if not on his lap? I’m not so heartless as to let him on the floor. Entirely selfless on my part. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading, any thoughts, please write a comment!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so, so much for everyone who commented the last chapter! I got inspired to write better some things, and also feedback about the pacing of this story.
> 
> About this, important question! Do you all prefer longer chapters? Or should I try cutting them down? (If I do, there will be some cliffhangers). The average lenght is 7k, sometimes 10k, and it got to 15k once when I spent two weeks to update. Also, is once a week good? Considering the lenght, I wondered if I should update it once in 15 days or something, just so it doesn't get overwhelming. I'd really appreciate some opinions about this!

As soon as they left that horrible cell, Ryuji squatted down and buried his face on his hands, trembling all over. “Sorry,” he rasped out, trying to get over it and stand back up, but too shaken to actually do it. His clothes were still damp from holding Akira’s drenched form, and his fingertips could still feel how his best friend trembled. There was a smear of blood on the front of his t-shirt, from when Akira’s injured wrist touched it, and he _couldn’t stop_ _shaking_.

Ann crouched by his side, taking deep breaths. She tried not to look at Haru’s teary eyes, or else she might cry as well and things would spiral quickly. Yusuke was using a similar technique, looking firmly at the ground, his lips flattened into a grim line. 

Morgana butted his head against Ryuji’s side, but didn’t offer any words. There was nothing anyone could say to the blond to make it better, and both of them knew it. There was nothing anyone could say to the cat either, that would make him feel any less protective. Less like Akira’s grief could consume him as well.

Futaba placed a hand on the blond’s shoulder, and she tried speaking up, but her voice cracked and she saw how Ryuji’s eyes teared up just at hearing it, and she fell silent again. Every one of them knew if one started crying, then everyone else would do it, and they didn’t know when they’d be able to stop. 

Makoto was biting on her lip, hands fisted on her sides. They were too deep into Akira's heart, and the fact that they touch a memory could mean too many things. She noticed the blood on Ryuji’s clothes, and tried not to notice how the blond’s hand had hovered over it, terrified and melancholic, furious. Too many things at once. She tried to keep a level head, to push past her own feelings just so their group wouldn’t fall apart, and just then, she had a renewed respect for Akira, who had so much more going on, but still kept his head up and led them through hell and out of it. She selfishly wished for Joker’s shadow to be back there with them. But then she discarded the thought. They could do it. They had already proven to themselves before that they could act without Joker. It was just… not the same without him. Not the heists, sure, but not anything else. He was their friend, and they missed him terribly. They needed to help him, and save him, so they could just be with their friend again.

“Let’s do it,” she finally said, and her voice wasn’t as confident as Joker’s would be, nor as reassuring, but it would have to do for now. 

Ann stood up, followed by a still trembling Ryuji, and she tried making herself useful. She craned her head to look at a cell by her side. The door was open, and she could only see darkness. It was oddly alive, in a way it felt disturbing. She could swear up and down that there should be a shadow inside, but there was none visible. 

“I can’t see any shadows inside of this one too…”

“Oh no.” Morgana came closer to check, ears flattening to his head. “I can feel it. It’s trapped inside. Probably because the memory is too strong, the shadow couldn’t guard it from the outside.” The group tried not to let the sudden sinking feeling on their stomachs get to them too much. They had to do this. “But the memory is probably consuming it, and it doesn’t know it exists outside of it. We have to think of a way to break him out so we can talk to him.”

“We should be really careful.” Makoto clenched her hands and tried to get back to planning, to logic, to get things done. “We almost messed up with the previous shadow, and that could have costed Akira’s life.” 

She winced at the gutted expressions on her teammates’ faces at her words. All of them had been aware, somewhat, of how dangerous it had been to have a shadow that panicked, and they felt how destructive the memory itself was, but none of them had actually thought they could have killed Akira with what they were doing. Some of them turned to look at Morgana, probably hoping for a negative, a reassurance that no, that was perfectly safe, but none came. The cat looked grim, tail moving in anxious patterns behind him, confirming Makoto’s words. 

“Also… this place feels weird,” Morgana continued, figuring since Makoto had already dealt a blow to the team’s morale, they should go all out with it and just get out of the way all the harsh facts. “I could tell when we were successful with the other cells, but on those… This place is always too dark, and isolated. I think that even after freeing those shadows, he might just lock up other memories here. He probably has other memories he wanted to block out, but didn’t because there’s only so much this place could take.” He looked around for a little, and he could almost taste the heaviness in the air surrounding those cells. There was also a sense of imminent danger, something oddly alive and not in a good way. “If you want my guess, Joker is probably trying to prevent more memories to end up quarantined here. It’s too dangerous to keep messing with what ends up here.”

“We should probably be really careful,” Futaba concluded in a shaky, but determined voice. “I’m not sure if we will get to interact with the next memory as we did before, but… If we do, I think we should only do it after everyone agrees to it. No going in on a whim or without a plan.”

There was a collective nod at that, and they huddled together to step inside, not wanting to get separated for any reason. Things were bound to be complicated enough with everyone present.

They were met with absolute darkness as soon as they stepped inside. A deep, all consuming darkness. The silence rang in their ears, and the sensation of having been torn apart from their own bodies stopped them from talking. The feeling was all consuming as well, and it took them a while to realise it came from the room itself. From its owner. It only really dawned on them when they caught a stray thought in the room, something vague and shapeless, more of a sense of awareness than a proper thought.

Everything was dark, and there was no way to come back to the surface. Then, the pain and discomfort became something of a focal point, and Akira thought, distantly, that he must have fallen unconscious at some point. Was he asleep still…? 

Sudden light invaded the room, hurting their eyes, and Akira jumped awake with a sudden hand on his shoulder. Adrenaline shot his eyes open, and he scanned his surroundings, body coiled tight, bracing himself for the next hit. 

Sae noticed his momentary panic, and allowed it, waiting until he recomposed himself to try and touch him again. He studied her for a while, and there was a lot of pity in her gaze as she waited with the car door open. The wind was absolutely freezing, and he clenched his teeth at it. It hurt his overheated face, but it brought some clarity to his thoughts. 

The memory came into focus suddenly, and they felt their stomachs lurching at the dizzying sensation of reality solidifying itself. They could actually feel the outside chilly air. Haru tentatively reached for the door of the cafe, but her hand passed through it. They exchanged grim looks.

Akira waited until his face went numb with cold, which took only half a minute to be honest, and nodded once, to which Sae helped him out of the car. She struggled with the shift of weight, and he tried to pull himself together. She must've been tired from carrying his dead weight out of the police station. It was already amazing she managed it at all, but she was sagging at the end. 

She was his last hope, and even she was faltering. He took it upon himself, because there wasn't any other way, and with a deep breath, he stood up straighter, lessening her burden. She kept his arm over her shoulders, in alas of support, but he was standing. Biting harshly on the inside of his cheek and grounding himself with the sharp pain, but supporting his weight. She knocked at the cafe’s door.

He could do it. Just a little more. 

"Are you blind? We're closed for t-!"

Akira had been watching his guardian with so much focus it was odd. 

Just when the man's face twisted in shock, and ultimately, relief, they saw the boy relaxing slightly. But, oddly, something hardened in his eyes. Something determined. Something definitely reckless.

He was already beyond himself at knowing Sojiro had been startled by the news, that he might have worried about him, and didn't that mean he didn't hate his guts? Akira didn't want to be seen at his lowest by him. He wouldn't be able to take it if he had to see the same underwhelming pity Sae had on her face reflected on Sojiro's. Some part of himself was convinced he had to be extra good and then maybe his guardian would accept him. 

Maybe, and that was a secret so hidden he avoided even thinking about it, maybe, his heart insisted in whispering to him, if he was good enough, Sojiro would let him stay forever. But only if he was extra good. 

And if there was something he had learned over the years was that adults didn't like sick children. They didn't like having to leave their jobs to nurse idiotic kids. They most definitely didn't appreciate calls from school about feverish boys. Nobody wanted that burden. 

Adults could stop caring about you if you ended up being too much trouble. Sojiro himself had said it before. He hoped, down there, that he didn't mean them anymore, but Akira wasn't risking it. 

He liked what he had with Sojiro now. Sure, his words at the beginning had really hurt, and the boy still thought about them, but he had good things now.

He wasn't risking losing it just because he happened to feel really down one night. His next step was obvious. Easy.

They knew, with a sense of foreboding doom, what he would do. They even knew he had quite decent chances of pulling it off. He lied through his teeth so much he had become good at it.

Sae was leaving, something urgent in her eyes as she said, "keep him safe. I don't have time to explain. He's supposed to be dead, don't let him be seen. I'll be back tomorrow and I promise I'll explain everything." 

She had passed him over to Sojiro, and if she noticed how the boy barely rested any of his weight on his new support, she didn't mention. There was no time. With a whirl of movement, she left. Without mentioning what was wrong with him. Just like that, Akira knew he had a chance.

He was used to hiding away sickness. He knew Sojiro wouldn't have picked up on his fever, because his cheeks had cooled off in the night's chilly air while Sae waited for the door to open. At seeing him, the old man had immediately reached forward, touched his forehead, looking for a fever he wouldn't feel. It was there, but it wasn't discernible when his ward's skin was cool from being outside.

When Akira was sat on the booth, he took a deep breath and asked to please be left in the cafe. 

"You can't even walk!" 

"It's just a bruise in my leg. Sae insisted she helped me to walk, but that's just ‘cause she feels guilty," he said with a huff. She didn't have the time to explain he was drugged, or anything, really, about the little she knew, and he sure as hell wasn't mentioning it. "She has plenty to feel guilty about, and I was a bit pissed at her so I took her up on the offer." He half smiled at that, giving himself a mental thumbs up as Sojiro half smiled and half cursed the woman under his breath. Sae wasn't Boss' favourite person at the moment, and it was easy for him to believe she'd insist on walking Akira out of guilt. She had looked guilty when Sojiro looked at her. 

Akira's hands were on his lap, under the table, carefully hidden from view. He couldn't control the intermittent shaking of them. 

"Even so, I'm not sure..." the old man finally said, scratching his own head.

Akira genuinely smiled at that, even if the effort made his vision darken around the edges. He hid it closing his eyes, leaning his head back on the booth, and it looked sincere paired with his smile. Good old Sojiro. With him, there was always room to argue, to have an opinion, and the old man would do his best to respect it, to understand. He was sharp and perceptive, but he believed in respecting personal spaces and not treating teenagers like toddlers. 

"I just want to sleep in a familiar place after all of that," Akira said in a soft voice. "I can clean up first thing in the morning. Besides, I'm just a bit sore, but it looks bad and I don't want Futaba worrying over this too much." Ouch, lowest blow ever. He knew Sojiro was very aware of how fragile Futaba's state of mind was. The old man knew she didn't take well any reminders of abuse. The aforementioned girl looking at the memory had started to cry at that. At Akira’s selfish and too kind for his own good attitude. At Sojiro’s stupid concern over her. At knowing they might be more right than she wanted, because she really didn't want to see someone who was family to her that hurt.

Akira thought, idly, that maybe the old man had been onto something when he had feared, at the beginning, that the delinquent would lie and try to deceive him. He would. Akira would do anything to keep that father figure in his life. He was so terrified, desperate to keep it. The lessons on coffee. The small, but proud smile at perfect scores at school. The way it sparked a drive to score that high again, just so he could see that smile aimed at him again. The respect for his personal space. The reassurance of being listened to when he tried to explain things. The solid routine of being greeted back home. 

Home. He didn't want to leave. 

"Please, I just want to go to sleep. And some water. I had to answer a lot of questions to Sae," he said, sighing, shoulders dropping slightly, a bratty quality to his voice. Something that would convince Sojiro he was being soft on him, something that would make Sojiro feel like he was being too nice to him. So he would go home. So he wouldn't be bothered. So Akira could keep him in his life. 

A glass of water was placed in front of him and he downed it in one go. Sojiro rolled his eyes and gave him another glass, which Akira took more of his time to drink, his thirst more tolerable now. He watched his guardian shuffling around, noticing the small frown in his forehead. 

Sojiro never knew when to push. He was too harsh at the beginning of their relationship, and had planted all kinds of doubts in the fertile ground of the mind of a boy who had just been shut away by his parents. He confessed to feeling guilty for that. He had been too soft to push Futaba to open up to him and to get out of her room. He's afraid of prying too much and scaring the kids away. He thinks that just because he wasn't a father by blood he doesn't know how to do it. It's a weakness, and Akira wasn't above exploiting it. 

"Fine, but I help you upstairs," Sojiro's gruff voice conceded. "Then I'll come early in the morning and you can take a shower at my home. You'd scare away everyone at the bathhouse, and if we're early enough Futaba shouldn't see you before you clean up." 

Akira smiled at that, relieved beyond himself that he managed to sell another tall tale on the same night. He just had to hold on a bit more, and he'd be alone. 

"Absolutely, Boss," he said, holding out his hand in an exaggerated way. 

"Brat. You must be alright if you can joke like that," he said with a huff, helping him up and pulling his arm over his old shoulders. Oh, how wrong he was. Akira could spin tales about talking cats and palaces made of messed up dreams while concussed and high, and still sound convincing enough to budge a sceptical, cold hearted prosecutor. Him talking and him being alright were two things completely unrelated. 

"You could carry me bridal style." 

"Not in your life, brat," he said, a small laugh escaping his lips. He was relieved his ward was alive. He wanted to believe things were okay. 

“Aren’t you a little damp? What happened, kid?”

“They dumped some water on me. No big deal.”

“Damn, kiddo.”

“Looking at the bright side, I bathed for free today.” Boss begrudgingly laughed at his joke, shaking his head at the boy’s silliness. 

Akira was focusing hard in walking straight, using every second of Boss' distraction he bought with his joke. 

It was dark, and the attic had always been poorly lit anyway. Sojiro sat him on the mattress, and Akira held himself carefully, controlling his breathing, which had tried to increase in rate as the old man’s handling had jostled his wounds as they made their way upstairs. He kept a small smile through it, leaning back on his arms as soon as he was confident he would be able to keep from wincing at the pain the movement brought. 

"Night, Boss." 

"Night, kid. I'll be back in the morning. Do call me if something happens." Akira smiled cheekily at him, managing a little wave.

His expression fell flat as soon as Sojiro was out of view, but he didn’t move until he heard the bell downstairs indicating Boss’ leave. He kept eerily still for a few moments yet, to be absolutely sure he was completely alone. 

Then, just then, he let out the breath he was holding, and let himself fall to the bed.

The crates dug into his side and he whimpered, holding his injured torso with trembling hands. When he was left alone all pretences dropped, and, suddenly, his pain was clear as day. He breathed harshly, unevenly, face tense and pale as he tried to work through the pain. He knew he should at least take a look at what he was dealing with, and then think of a plan. 

With a very shaky sigh, he started to take off his school blazer, finally letting the bloody spot on his white turtleneck appear. He pulled it up, hissing as he looked at the cuts on his skin. It wasn't actively bleeding anymore, but the edges were red and inflamed. The point where the knife had pierced more deeply had an angry bruise from when the officer dug into his skin to prevent him from bleeding too much before signing his confession. That one was still bleeding, probably from the jostling of the wound from when he was carried by Sae. 

Very gently, he pulled up the snowy hem of his shirt even higher, revealing his pale chest. There was a patch of mottled skin visible, a blur of blues and purples on one point of his ribcage. He gingerly tried touching it, before hissing, quickly dropping his hand, trying to even his breathing. It was white hot agony, and he immediately gave up on inspecting it further. He let the hem of his shirt fall down and hide his body again, opting to check on his legs. 

It hurt to move too much, so he chose a cursory pat down on his lower limbs, trying to reassess his situation. His wrists hurt, something deeper than the bruises covering it, but he was too tired to pay it more attention. It was agony moving it, but as long as he didn’t press on the cuts and bruises it was bearable. 

He tried to stand solely on his bad leg, but it immediately gave out, and he braced himself on the bed, sitting down again. His ankle also hurt, a probably-twisted-it hurt, and when he touched it, he could feel the swelling. He probably should avoid putting his weight on it for a bit. His knee felt weird too, not dislocated, but bending that leg was painful, the bones gritting together uncomfortably. The bruise on the respective thigh was inconsequential, compared with everything else going on. 

He should call Takemi. He knew he should. But... 

‘Trust issues’ was putting it very lightly. What if she thought enough was enough and said something to Sojiro? She could demand him to make things for Akira, and Sojiro would be bothered, and Akira would feel awful and Boss would resent him for not looking grateful. No, he shouldn’t risk her talking to Sojiro.

And what would she say to Akira himself anyway? He was fairly sure there wasn’t much she could even do. He was just bruised, a few cuts, nothing that serious anyway. Worse case scenario his ribs could be broken, but there was nothing to be done about it, except for try not to jostle them too much, and they would heal. Or pierce his lung and put him down. But he was fairly sure he didn’t have any bone shard stabbing anything important, or he would have died after a few well placed kicks. It most likely wasn't broken. And, if he didn’t have anything broken, he just had to clean up a bit, bandage one thing or another, and let his ribs alone for a few weeks. He was perfectly capable of bandaging himself up, one of the perks of being in charge of buying medical supplies for the team. 

He just… needed to lie down for a bit and catch his breath. 

He turned, lying with his face to the dusty ceiling, breathing shallowly. The cuts on his belly stung, as well as his wrists. The fever was taking everything he didn't have, and breathing fucking hurt. His skull throbbed and he was terrified. 

He had been concussed, probably, but it was hours ago. It’s been probably over 24 hours now, so, if he hadn’t died yet, he was probably alright, and that was what Takemi was going to tell him. She wouldn’t be without grounds to laugh, and tell him he had overreacted, which already happened to him over his life far too many times. She wasn’t that bothered when he outright fainted in front of her in their testings. She had been comfortable enough to joke about him dying, and while he wasn’t offended, per se, he didn’t… He was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to take that in his current state. He could, of course, count on the hope that she would feel sorry enough for him not to say something indelicate, but…. But. 

Why was he so scared? Why couldn't he trust again? So what if every other adult figure in his life failed him before? Why was he dealing with it alone? 

Stupid. He felt so fucking stupid. But as stupid as he was, he couldn't see any other way. He felt trapped in so many ways he couldn't even start to explain. His heart was a prison for a reason. 

Even after he bursted open one of the cells, out of sheer despair honestly, the scenery never changed, and the proof was all around them. He'd still feel trapped. 

With a wrenching sob, he fell apart, crying his heart out at the empty attic, curling into his body and riding out the agony. His physical body was a prison of pure pain at this point. He loathed how good of a liar he was. He wanted to scream, he wanted someone to hear, but he was silenced his whole life and he didn't, couldn't speak. 

And even if he could, he wasn’t sure if he should. He couldn't let his friends, some of them who knew abuse firsthand, see what was done to him. He couldn't put more doubts in Makoto’s and Ann's, always unsure about their plans, minds. He couldn't possibly let Haru worry about him, when she was still grieving her father, someone who died because he couldn't figure things out as a leader. He couldn't fall apart and bring his team with him. He had to get a fucking grip, or else he could be thrown out again. Transferred. Beaten up. Killed. Anything goes, apparently. 

It just hit them, how emotionally strenuous his situation was. He spent the whole year unsure of his place, holding his breath and waiting for the misstep that would finally cause Sojiro to turn him away. At first, just knowing he'd be homeless, but then, as weeks went by, knowing it would tear him apart if the old man sent him away. 

And then, they laid all their expectations on him. They relied heavily on his confidence, and his words. They needed him to be strong when all of them faltered. They let him deal with budgeting and decisions, with coming up with solutions when the world was crashing and burning around them. They let him deal with having his identity exposed, being arrested and bearing with all the police brutality. 

They never noticed and they never asked questions. If they had asked, if they had insisted just enough for him to know it was okay to talk, he'd have. He'd always dodge their questions, phrased things just so no one would notice something was amiss, but he rarely said something he didn't mean. When Ryuji expressed a want, and insisted to know about his conviction and how he was sent to Tokyo, Akira had shared. Even if it was recent, and still raw, he had told him. 

They wondered what other things their friend had been willing to share if they had just asked. 

But they never ever questioned their blessings. They never once questioned how he got his hands on such strong medicines without a recipient. How he got them weapons so well made.

Mona had watched as he collapsed on his first time giving himself up to test a drug still in development. And how it happened again and again, but he never stopped going because they needed the meds. All of them knew, they knew about the trials, they knew how he collapsed quite a few times, but Akira said it was fine, and they believed in it, like a bunch of complete idiots. 

And Mona had loved him fiercely, but still let him do it, still let him go with Yakuza, with shady doctors, with fortune tellers who'd steal the little money he had. 

And he still helped said fortune teller, even if she only returned his money ages after stealing it in the first place. And while she had a good reason, Akira was walking on a very thin line, and messing up with budgeting at the beginning inevitably meant going without lunch or dinner. Even after Sojiro let him eat the cafe's leftovers for dinner, messing up budgeting still meant no lunch, since he couldn't use the kitchen during the day. 

It never meant less medicine or weapons, because he cared for them too much. Because it wasn't right letting them suffer because of his poor planning. 

He didn't let even Mona suffer because of it. The cat was well fed by Sojiro, better than Akira himself. Even if canned cat food tasted bad and wasn’t as filling as he would wish.

Even if all of that had worked in their favour, it left the boy with a clear message: his well being was something he could bargain with, his life was something he had to bet, all of him was something to be used. 

Ann had had enough of this, she was absolutely done watching that, and, without thinking, she tried giving one step farther, past the threshold of the attic to go into Akira’s room. 

She collided painfully with apparently thin air, and yelped. 

“Why can't we go in?!”

"I think it has to do with his cognition. You have never gone to visit him in Leblanc without him inviting you. In the previous memory he had been too out of it for him to have such logical thoughts, but this Akira is more alert about who enters and goes. He’s scared, and he’s awake enough to put up barriers. He was probably operating under the idea that LeBlanc at late night is safe enough because no one he hadn’t invited has ever come in.”

They fell silent again, trying to think of a way. Anything but to stand by and keep watching their friend have a breakdown like that.

Akira was still lying quietly awake in his bed. He couldn't sleep for all tired that he was, wired up, exhausted but unable to stop all the thoughts in his head, the restless energy of a body ready to shut down. He had been ready to faint at some point of the interrogation, but now, now he was exhausted but wide awake, scared, confused, not knowing what to do with a body he couldn't control. He kept rubbing his fingertips together, trying to will away the numbness that remained there. He wondered if today would be one of those days in which he didn’t feel present in his own body. The feeling was unsettling, and he hated it so much. 

He distantly concluded he wouldn't be able to sleep, so he should drink some coffee and just keep awake. Maybe he would sleep when it wasn’t so dark outside. The attic was pretty poorly lit too, which was a bit too close to the interrogation room, and he didn’t feel like sleeping.

He pushed himself off the bed, tumbling down, making it downstairs without really seeing, walking past them without a glimpse of recognition. The images blurring together as he put all of his focus into locking his knees and not falling to his death.

His hands pulled through the routine of coffee making, but he made the mixture stronger than ever because fuck it if he was going to sleep that night, he needed the boost and he probably needed some sugar. Their coffee was good enough to be drunk black, but he added sugar because maybe it would raise his blood sugar and he would feel better? Yes, good idea. He hadn't eaten in more than a day, and he didn't feel like eating, but sugar should help. 

He filled a mug with coffee and drank greedily, the bitterness doing wonders, for what he didn't know, but God it felt good. He drank another cup, because wasn't caffeine supposed to help with headaches anyway? He should drink more, definitely. 

He finished his cup and stopped for a while, his head blank. He stared at the ceiling for God knows how long, too tired to move, giddy for some reason, nauseated and wanting to cry. Maybe he should lie down on his bed, he wondered, getting back up just for his knees to fail him, forcing him to grab at the counter for balance. 

Fuck. Fuck, he couldn't walk straight. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest, as he sat down at the counter, his two hands roughly rubbing against his own numb face. They were shaking so badly the movement was halted and jilted, and he got up. 

Everything spun around him, the darkness made everything jumbled and mixed up, and his back hit a wall. There was a door in front of him, and he took a minute to realize it was the washroom. He stopped there, trying not to fall. His knees didn't feel like holding up, and there was an insistent itch inside his arms, as if there was something tickling his very flesh as his hands shook and shook. He could feel his heart beating wildly fast on his back, against the wall behind him. 

What was going on? 

He slumped forward, intent on washing his face, and almost slammed his face on the door, forgetting entirely about actually opening it before trying to enter. When he pulled it open, it was with a bit more force and less control than he had been expecting, and he had to grip the side of the sink to not come tumbling down. 

He whipped his head up, staring at his own reflection, meeting wide eyes and wild hair. He looked closer, and noticed that one of his pupils was blown wider than the other, and was that normal? 

He was shaking harder, and distantly regretted drinking coffee in his altered state of mind. It was coming crashing down on him, and oh God he had never been high in his life but maybe he was now. He shouldn't have drank coffee when he had already been high. Why did no one tell him he was high? Maybe they did? He couldn’t think.

He quickly left the bathroom, stumbling until he reached one of the booths and sat down. The world felt off its axis, and he couldn't think, his body wasn't moving as he wanted, and he was scared. What was happening? Is it supposed to be happening? Did Sae know how horrible it would be for him to come down from all the drugs they pumped into him? Did every drug feel the same? He had a stray thought that he wouldn't have any reserves in taking recreational drugs since he already had ruined his organism with drugs minus all the fun side, but he was so sure he didn't ever want to feel like that again. Off balance, unable to connect with the world, shaking and nauseated and confused. 

God, he wanted it to fucking stop. 

Water. Water should help. 

He got back up, and snatched himself a cup through sheer willpower, because he was the fucking leader, had been shouldering everything alone since God knows when and he was convinced that, if he just tried hard enough, he could do just about anything. He drank the water in one go, filling his upset stomach suddenly. 

He closed his eyes tightly, breathing shakily and trying to center himself when everything around him seemed to be crashing down. 

Everything was going to be just fine. 

His mouth watered and he swallowed down the pool of saliva once, twice. He was shivering as he closed his eyes and breathed through another mouthful of saliva. His stomach cramped, and he regretted every single food he consumed in his entire life. He knew these signs. 

He stumbled back to the bathroom, and vomited in the sink. It was mostly bile and coffee, watered down. He heaved again, his muscles convulsing, trying to make him throw up again, but there was nothing. Just painful dry heaves, cold sweat pouring as he gripped the sides of the sink and tried not to cry. Everything hurt, and he couldn't make sense of anything. 

But there was this side of him, louder than everything else, stronger than the pain, that was dead set on hiding his weaknesses, so he grabbed the soap and rinsed the sink, scrubbing it with his bare hands. He throughfully rinsed his mouth, and didn't cry. No one would know, no one ever looked hard enough to see. He had all the masks he needed to go his entire life without being seen. He wouldn't open that kind of space, he wasn't suicidal enough to open up again and be judged. The last blow he took, when he had his heart still open, was delivered by his parents, and it had been so bad he spent two days closing his heart shut, vowing to never again wear it on his sleeve. 

Well, even so, Sojiro had dealt quite a few blows to his heart, because somehow Akira wasn't expecting him to say lots of things he said.

The pain was always worse when he genuinely wasn't expecting it, and every single inch of himself he left open was just another place to be hit. He knew better now. He would always know better from now on. 

He had a mission, a purpose that burned inside him so brightly it threatened to burn him down entirely, and he would fucking die for it. He had a goal, and he would achieve it, and nothing else mattered. He would be whatever he had to be, and change masks, and have all the right answers, shapeshift into anything to get his job done. 

It didn't matter if he longed painfully to be seen, to be known and loved anyway, despite not being exactly what they expected of him. He had tried, over and over, until it got beaten out of him. 

It didn't really matter that now he knew better people. He was a handful, his true self split into thousands of pieces, all of them absolutely truthful and so, so far from the truth. He was a cocky bastard as much as the shy nerd, and he wasn't lying to anyone, but he was hiding so much and in so many ways. He showed what people wanted to see, so often he couldn't remember what he was when no one was looking. 

He knew the friends he had now were better people, they wouldn't have torn him apart with passive aggressive comments, they wouldn't watch gleefully as the rumours grew in his old school and he was shipped away. 

But he hardly knew them for that long, and he wasn't the same, he wouldn't be around them for much longer, and people were strange, they could care for him but not want to look too hard, to really see him and all of his problems. 

He was too hurt still to hear one misplaced word, one careless comment about how 'this is not like you' if he tried to open up. A single 'why are you being such a drama queen?'. ‘Attention whore’. If he heard one 'you're too much trouble kid, can't wait to send you back to your parents to deal with you' he was going to break. He did not want to break again, so he would hide and no one would have the chance to say any of that. 

Sometimes, though, he wished a little that someone would notice something. He wasn’t sure if he was just really good at hiding or if no one cared enough to ask, and that doubt kept him awake on some nights. 

The raw guilt and grief threatened to swallow them whole. 

“I can’t take it anymore!” Ann’s voice was shaking with frustration.

“Maybe…” Morgana began, carefully, not wanting to give them hope and just have it taken away. "Maybe someone who has come over uninvited could go in. I mean, if it's someone who had already showed up without warning, he might subconsciously be expecting it."

"But he walked right past us..." Futaba frowned, then considered the situation. "But we ourselves were thinking we couldn't get in as well... Maybe now we _know_ we might be able to get in, and if we send someone who Akira _thinks_ that can get in..."

“Me and Yusuke have dropped by a lot last summer," Ryuji offered. "It became a routine long enough for us to have kinda free pass I guess. When I brought it up he said we’re kinda always welcome or something.”

"And Morgana kind of already has the permission to come and go as he pleases." Makoto looked thoughtful.

"Let me handle this." Surprisingly, Yusuke stepped forward. 

“… why?” Ann tentatively asked.

“We don’t know how well he will react to people touching him now, and I think I can resist the urge best between the two of us,” he said, looking at Ryuji, who looked startled for a bit, more than a little regretful, but he nodded. It was true.

The artist turned to Morgana. “And he expects you to be with Futaba, and I think he'd be upset if he thought you left her alone." The cat looked down at that. All of them looked pained at not being able to enter as well. Yusuke bit his own lip. "I can go in, and try to change his perception so you all can come in too.” He immediately added. With it, all of them nodded, and urged him to go.

Yusuke purposefully knocked on a nearby wall, relief washing over them as the touch connected, and the sound echoed on the room.

Akira flinched hard, but he quickly schooled his face into a more neutral expression and pretended he had just been startled like a normal person.

“Oh. Yusuke. I didn’t know you’d be coming by.” He held himself closer to the wall than to the edge of the mattress, facing the room. A strategically good position, which meant he was scared enough to feel that unsafe, to the point he wouldn’t be able to drop his guard even in his own room. He purposefully relaxed his posture, trying to appear casual, shuffling slightly more into the dark corners of the room. 

“Hello, Akira.” To his credit, Yusuke’s voice was deep and composed, even if his hands were clenched in trembling fists on his sides. It was still jarring staring at his friend’s injured face, knowing exactly how every bruise came to be. He focused on his mission of gaining the shadow’s trust and finding a way to let the others in. “I was too anxious about today, so I came here to look at Sayuri, I hope you will forgive the intrusion.”

“It’s… okay,” he answered slowly, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Wary, but not kicking his guest out. He turned his face away, trying to hide. He debated briefly if he should just tell Yusuke to leave, but he had managed to convince Sojiro he was doing reasonably well, so it was probably better to just act normally. Most of the damage was under his clothes anyway. Yusuke wouldn't know how serious it was.

And... it wasn't bad, having a friend with him. 

Yusuke’s presence was soothing in an odd way. He never stepped into Akira’s personal space, and he never asked too many questions. Normal people would have immediately asked Akira over and over how he was feeling, and other questions Akira didn’t really have an answer for. Yusuke was company, but an unobtrusive one. He looked around the room, and talked about the decorations. His voice was nice, and his description of the objects was grounding. 

Akira let out a shaky sigh, and the tension in his shoulders lessened slightly. He kept an eye on Yusuke, though, apparently still too anxious to close his eyes knowing someone else was in the room with him. This Akira didn't want to be touched. He was skittish, wary, hurt and uncertain. Too alert to let other people into his space. Trauma had set in, raw and too recent. His mind was clearer, and with it, he lost the capacity of being physically comforted. He could think enough to remember that entire night he spent learning that touch was something to bring him pain. He couldn’t think clearly enough to get over that notion and crave affection. 

But the artist was interesting to watch, and he didn’t force Akira to interact, which was extra nice. He sounded a little anxious, enough to make it clear he had been worried about his friend being with the police the whole night, which was really nice, but he also wasn't overwhelming him with fussing over, and with questions that demanded answers. He just kept talking, low and soothing, not getting offended at the silence, which was everything Akira could really offer at the moment.

Eventually, his guest’s artistic eye caught on the big stuffed mascot sitting on the corner, and he quickly went to pick it up.

“I’m not sure about the colour combination of this, but it is pleasing to the eye in some way.” He evaluated with a critical eye. His hands tested the softness, and he gave a nod in approval. “It is quite squishy. You should hold on to it.” Without further explanation, he extended the stuffed animal to Akira, who picked it up slowly. He was a bit unsure, but Yusuke kept mumbling about the possible other colours it could have, and wasn’t paying attention to his insecurities. Akira settled down again with the plushie. 

It was really nice. He held the stuffed mascot, holding it close, and something seemed to loosen up in his chest. The size of the stuffed animal helped too, and, as he leaned on it, his chest could rest entirely on it, the pressure on his ribs lessened. It was better than his pillow in its softness, and it helped him rest his body in a way it hurt a little less. He worried the fabric between his fingers, and the sensation was grounding. He looked up eventually, face half buried in the soft toy, questions in his dark eyes. 

"I was a child who often... sought the comfort of a mother who wasn't there anymore. I would go see Sayuri, but I guessed a plush toy would have a similar effect. It's about comfort but not letting anyone close enough, I think." 

Akira nodded at that, his expression impossibly soft, and just like that, Yusuke knew they understood each other. 

"I'd like to draw something. Would you like to see it?" 

Akira nodded, eyes glazed with his high fever, but seemingly relieved by the distraction. Yusuke was glad he could offer that. He wanted to help him in some way. He wished he could make that hurting boy on the bed have hope, like his mother's painting made so many others do. 

It was odd how daunting of a concept that was. Akira, for all his want to reform society and make the world a better place, for all his commitment to never turning away from whoever needed his help, he wasn't very hopeful. He believed, and he strove forward with clenched teeth and unrivalled guts, with a righteous kind of anger, unleashing his heart out and making whatever he wanted to happen, happen.

But he was never hoping for the best. In fact, all of his heart was cold and devoid of all hope. He had a goal, and he would kill himself striving for it, but he wasn't exactly a dreamer. 

Art made Yusuke dream. And he had been through enough to know life wasn't something one could survive without dreaming. 

Akira made him find his art back. He wanted to make his friend dream again with it. 

He sat on the floor, by the bed, and cradled the notebook he found on the desk in his hands. He had took a pencil from the work desk as well, fairly sure his friend wouldn't mind to borrow him it.

Akira hesitated for a moment, but lay down, looking at the blank page sideways. At least now he didn’t have to crank his neck trying to look, or force his torso into bending down. He kept the plushie in a secure hold. 

He paused, pencil hesitating for a moment while he considered. What would make his friend smile? What would he like to see? What did he want? 

One idea came to mind, and his hand started to move. It was rushed, only a sketch, really, of all the thieves together, sitting on various positions on the attic’s floor, and Akira’s bed. It was a good exercise, thinking of what poses each one of them would be in, considering their personalities. Makoto was leaning against the window, next to Haru, who was showing her something on her phone, both smiling brightly. Ann was lying on the floor with a magazine open, Morgana pawing at the page. Futaba was sitting on the bed, seemingly ready to pick up Mona when he was not paying attention, probably to ruffle at the small cat’s fur. Akira sat by her side, with Ryuji on his other side. His dark curls were charming to draw in the position Yusuke chose, head dipped a bit down, leaning towards Ryuji on his left, seemingly laughing at some joke the blond said. They were holding hands. Shadow Akira blushed slightly more at noticing the detail, scowling at his own reaction. Yusuke did a double take at his friend’s apparent displeasure. 

"You don't like it?" 

"I do, but..." Akira sounded sheepishly, and quite a bit awkward. 

"You are absolutely correct, Ryuji would probably have an arm around your shoulders or waist.” Yusuke cursed his oversight under his breath, and began to redo that part immediately. He had probably already forgotten why he started drawing. He had that slightly crazed and obsessed look in his eyes as he mumbled under his breath about how could he have ever thought they would be holding hands, obviously that gesture would be much more tender and intimate and Ryuji would be too embarrassed to pull that out in front of them, oh, the characterization, he was a failure as an artist-

"I..." Shadow Akira’s face was redder than before, and he seemed conflicted between pointing out that comment or no. He hesitated for a minute longer, before finally murmuring, "How do you know?"

"Know what?"

"About... Ryuji?"

"Oh, that.” Yusuke’s voice was distracted, and he erased the arm around Akira’s shoulders, because it was ruining Futaba’s pose. Around the waist it was. But what was he going to do about Akira’s arms?! Oh wait, Akira usually laughed covering his mouth because he’s a bit awkward. “You just told me yourself. As for the drawing, I have been thinking for a while that you two might like each other.” He didn’t notice the flustered shadow by his side, too busy with readjusting Akira’s body angle on his sketch. “I wasn't very sure of course, you remember I'm not very proficient at discerning romantic love. But your smile is more radiant when you're next to him, and I’ve always thought it was good inspiration." He concluded, easily, as if it didn’t really matter either way. It probably didn’t, to him, and shadow Akira relaxed slightly with the lack of judgment in his voice. It was incredibly reassuring having Yusuke saying those things. The artist could be really good company.

"Oh," the shadow breathed out, seemingly not knowing what else to say. But he was visibly happy, something soft in his eyes as he took in the image of all of his friends together. 

The two lapsed into silence for a few minutes, until Yusuke got stuck about which expression should Ann have, and asked aloud what Akira thought. He frowned as no one answered him, and he looked up to notice his teammates slightly panicking expressions. He looked back at the bed.

"Akira?" 

But there was no answer. Akira had his eyes closed, breathing fast and unevenly, cheeks flushed with heat. He was curling into himself more tightly, a pained expression on his delicate features. 

"Everyone's heading over, alright?" It was unnerving hearing Yusuke’s normally composed voice with that clear note of panic. “They just want to see you safe and then they'll let you rest." 

Akira nodded, hazily, not really listening. His fever had spiked, and it was hard to tell if that was because some of his numerous wounds had gotten infected, or if it was an upcoming cold. He had spent a few hours dripping wet in a cold room and, after that, he hadn't been well enough to tend properly to his wounds. It could be an unfortunate combination of the two. He didn’t remember what caused it, but he knew he had been pretty much out of it for a few hours.

“Akira, come on. This is just a memory. You can get out if you want to.”

The words didn’t make any sense, and he didn’t bother with them. He was vaguely surprised to hear Makoto’s voice, but Yusuke had said everyone would drop by later… Were they downstairs? The voices sounded a bit far. Or was he just not paying attention?

“This isn’t good, we won’t be able to talk to him while he’s like this.”

“Do you think… remember how we could affect the first shadow’s cognition by directly interacting with it? I mean, Ryuji giving him his hoodie made the shadow retreat from its own perceptions, and step away from the memory. Maybe if we help caring for this shadow’s injuries, it would retreat from the memory enough to break out of the memory itself.”

Akira frowned, annoyed at the voices. The thieves could be kind of loud sometimes, and he couldn’t keep track of what they were saying even on good days. He considered just going to sleep and ignoring them all.

“And we can talk to it after it’s out, like we did with the others!”

“It’s worth a try.”

The chattering died, leaving the room immersed in silence. Akira was clearly nervous with it, his mind reeling from too many thoughts. He grew fidgety in the absence of the sound of Yusuke drawing. He settled again after Yusuke sat down, near his head. Akira was curled into himself enough for the artist to sit there and still keep some distance, but close enough for him to hear him sketching. It said a lot about how he trusted him since he didn’t mind having him outside his field of vision. 

Morgana was sniffing around the room, away from the boy, searching for the medical supplies. Akira sometimes changed the hiding location of their items, just to be on the safer side, if anyone came to search his room for evidence. Makoto’s mouth was set in a grim line as she tried to think of a plan. After a moment of consideration, she turned to Ryuji.

"I think you should do it," she firmly said, in a hushed voice, so as not to bother Akira. At the blond’s confused gaze, she sighed. “I mean the bandaging part.”

"M-me?!” he cried out, and immediately winced sheepishly at the small jump Akira gave at that. “Why me?" he asked in a whisper.

Ann elbowed him teasingly.

"He did say before he wants to get into your pant-" 

"Aaaaah! Don't say it, man!" he whispered furiously.

"Are you embarrassed? That's cute." 

"I-it's not like that!” the blond whispered, aggravated. “It's just... well, y'know... it's extra bad taking off the clothes of someone you're attracted to without their consent I guess. Not that I was having y'know, perverted thoughts now or anything, but... I don't wanna upset him," he mumbled, worried. 

"Ann was trying to lighten the mood,” Haru gently explained. “Our point is: he's too much of a gentleman to want to make any of the girls uncomfortable about seeing him undressed, and Yusuke should keep drawing so Akira can have something to focus on. Akira had trained shirtless with you before, so we think he wouldn't mind terribly." 

"Oh.” The blond blinked a few times. Yes, that made sense. “You're right.” He felt nervous, but Haru was right. “Okay." He took a deep breath, preparing his heart to what he knew they were all about to see. Even fully clothed, Akira looked really unwell. They've seen enough of the interrogation to know he must've looked even worse under his clothes. But there was no time for their feelings. His best friend needed him, and that was always reason enough for Ryuji to do anything. "I'm ready." 

"Don't swoon taking off this pretty boy's clothes, ok?" Futaba said, trying to infuse her tone with light hearted teasing. She missed the mark by a mile, her eyes already wet at seeing the evident agony of someone she considered family. They had all considered it wiser to keep her a bit far from Akira, since he had been worried about triggering her with his injuries. It didn’t mean she wasn’t upset about it, but she agreed to keep away. Morgana was also staying back, because Akira had entrusted him with taking care of Futaba, and while it was horrible to stay away, it also said a lot about how much Akira trusted him, to leave his little sister under his care. Akira knew Futaba was strong, but he also hated to death to remind her of all the abuse she suffered. He also thought Mona was a good cat who could help humans to stay calm by cuddling next to them, but he never said it to aforementioned cat. 

Ryuji smiled at the weak attempt of a joke, even if he really didn't have it in himself to come up with a funny reply. All of them were trying very hard not to say aloud how much they were dreading to see Akira's battered body. He got closer to the bed with careful steps.

"Hey." 

"Why...?" the boy in the bed frowned at him, feverish eyes reflecting all of his confusion. 

"I'm gonna help ya with some bandaging, that's okay?" 

"I don't need bandages." 

Makoto sent a glare his way, and Ryuji backtracked. Oh right, Akira was working under the assumption he would hide it all from the team. He was also really out of it if he thought they hadn't noticed everything already.

"I said bandages? I meant I was going to help with that knot on your shoulder ya told me about. Heheh, muscle cramps sucks, huh?" he attempted, cringing at how bad his cover up had been. 

Akira, though, just stared at him, eyes unfocused, and nodded. 

The blond pursued his lips, heart squeezing uncomfortably in his chest. Akira was in really bad shape if he couldn't keep track of a simple conversation. 

But it worked for them, he decided, sitting on the edge of the bed, next to Akira’s midsection. 

"Up we go?" he asked so Akira wouldn't be startled when he tried to move him. When his friend nodded again, Ryuji gently pulled the plush mascot away, and started to help him up, painstakingly slowly. 

Even with help, the effort of sitting up drained the boy, and by the end, he had collapsed on the blond's shoulder, trembling all over. Ryuji kept an arm around his waist, supporting almost all of his weight while his other hand went to black curls, trying to soothe him. Akira tensed up at the touch, but eventually, slowly, leaned a little into it. It helped with his headache. He was still wounded a bit too tight, but he had relaxed enough in Yusuke’s company to open up a little. It felt good, the gentle hand on his hair, and Akira let out a deep breath, eyes closed as he tried to regain his balance. There was something soothing and reassuring about the hand on his waist as well, thumbing gentle circles over a small spot on his torso. He trusted that hold, even if he didn't quite remember why. 

Ryuji waited until the shaky breathing against his shoulder evened, and then started to help his friend out of his clothes. 

The turtleneck was peeled off with relative ease, even if it did make Akira out of breath as it was forced past his head. It was the sleeves that were more complicated, the fabric clinging too tightly on his arms. Ryuji held him by the hand and pulled it off, wincing as the fabric dragged itself on wounded pale wrists. There was one particularly deep cut over some violent bruising, placed almost on the back of his hand, probably irradiating pain to a visibly trembling index finger. A similar cut was on his other hand, from when the officer had stepped down on the handcuffs, with Akira’s hands trapped inside. The blood had more or less dried, but a few new droplets still resurfaced. The blond took the hands on his and slowly flexed the wrists, trying to gauge the damage.

Akira gave out a little wounded sound at it, and Ryuji immediately stopped, waiting out for the pain to recede a little, blinking fast so he wouldn't start to cry on the spot. 

Ann bit furiously on her lip, eyes blurring as she continued to look for medical supplies with Morgana. 

The blond laid Akira back on the bed, trying to avoid touching his wrists. It didn’t appear broken, but it could be twisted, or something close to that. Every time he moved it, Akira hissed, which, in Akira’s dictionary, meant he was in a lot of pain.

Ann appeared by his side, offering him a small bottle of antiseptic. Makoto was categorizing the medicine they had at hand with the help of Morgana, who was discussing with Futaba if it actually made a difference choosing the right meds. Eventually, they decided that shadow Akira knew those supplies, and if he caught wind of them using the wrong ones, he would end up thinking they didn’t care, which would undoubtedly set them back very badly. Even feverish and quite out of it, Akira knew first aid, and he could probably tell if they were doing it seriously. The whole point was forcing into him the idea of them caring about him, and that they could be trusted with helping him deal with it, thus stopping him from bottling all of that nightmare up. They had to patch him up right.

Ryuji accepted the task with relatively ease. He knew the ins and outs of tending to bruises and cuts, he even knew what cream they should apply for purple bruises to disappear quickly. He worked with precision and uncannily fast, like someone afraid of being caught. 

He wasn't that different from 10 years old Ryuji, sneaking around to tender wounds inflicted by his father. He wasn't that different from his early teenage years, when he already had first aid down to a routine. And he was glad, for once. All of that meant he could help now. It was... life changing, seeing a skill he acquired through pain and despair healing someone. 

Akira kept breathing shallowly, eyes closed and an unfaltering pain etched on the lines of his face. Yet, he didn't make a single movement, his body slack as he was bandaged up. Too exhausted to even flinch at the dull pain of bruises being touched. 

Ryuji wanted to scream, to punch whoever was responsible for this, to cry and beg for answers. Why? Akira deserved the world. Scratch that, he deserved so much more. 

He wondered why they were so different, but so alike at times. He didn't have the perfectionism, or the quietness, but it was horrifying how their lives mirrored the same pain sometimes. They got the same unfair labeling at school. They got their lives ruined for speaking up. They had the same recklessness to jump in front of whoever needed help. They were foolish enough to risk everything for someone they didn't even know, because that was the right thing to do. 

And now, Akira had cuts and bruises, he was curled up, wary of other people, something in himself bracing for the next hit. And Ryuji remembered the night his father left. When he looked at himself in the mirror and counted the wounds, but refused to cry. He remembered how he never got to trust again in male figures of authority. How he had to relearn proximity. How he had to relearn being around other people. 

How he never really got the hang of it, but before he knew it, he was leaning on the transfer student's shoulders, and sitting close enough for their thighs to touch. How being near to Akira never hurt, and how closeness suddenly made him feel giddy, happy, elated. How he always took the spot next to him, because he wanted to always feel like that. 

How Akira wasn't the most approachable guy on Earth, but how he allowed it, and how every time he'd open a treasure, he'd let Ryuji fall into pace next to him, so they could share that small moment of closeness. More often than not, the blond was there for it, and he leaned over his shoulder, touching him, something electric on the air as their faces came impossibly close, close than any of the other thieves got. How Akira would lean into him sometimes as well.

He hadn’t noticed how used they were of being in each other's space until he was sitting there, touching the most vulnerable shadow of his best friend’s heart, and having it not pull away. Akira seemed half asleep through all his prodding, even if he had tensed every time someone else got too close. 

It was… humbling, and terrifying, and also heartbreaking in a way the blond couldn’t quite explain. He was glad Akira could have someone to trust about touching him, and he was happy to be there for it, to have someone who’d look at him and notice he cared, that he could be gentle, that he knew how to be really good to people. He was also a little terrified, because people didn’t usually looked at him and deemed him worthy of trust, not like that, not with someone’s physical well being. They expected punches, and violence, and brash and loud words, and he knew he could be that too. But he also knew he could be attentive, and considerate, and just not like his dad at all, but no one looked past his bleached hair and awful slang, and it was weird, being seen. He felt grateful, and a little hurt, and a lot protective of Akira, because he had a very big heart and people had the audacity of hurting him. 

Ryuji felt like he hated the world, but he was also relieved, because tending to bruises was always a bittersweet experience. He hated every single wound Akira received, he burned with the injustice of it all, but a part of him was relieved to see them. Because bruises meant his best friend survived, he was hurt but he lived after that, long enough for his skin to bruise and for blood to clot. Long enough to come back to them, and to have breath on his lungs to start over. 

Ryuji's feelings were a mess. 

And it was flashback, it was muscle memory, or maybe trauma, but lots of things about Akira post interrogation reminded him of the last beating he got by the hand of his father. He had now the same uncertain fear in his heart, of when he and his mom were looking at each other amongst the destruction of their living room, bloodied and terrified, the front door still open. Slow realisation that maybe that man wouldn't come back. That tiny hope that maybe that was the end of all the pain and all the fear. Too unsure to really embrace the relief washing over them. Too broken to mind the wounds. 

Ryuji snapped back to his task and pushed forward, running over his own overwhelming grief, and tending to one injury after another. To the painful red lines on the smooth expanse of Akira's stomach to the bruised inside of his elbow. To the exact same bruises on the side of a pale neck, to the blooming purple on the high of his cheekbones. To injured ribs, fingers gingerly testing their integrity, pressing down even knowing it must hurt like hell. 

He took his time wrapping Akira’s wrists, agonizingly careful when he cleaned the wounds, and when he placed the gauze over it, and when he secured the bandages over the damage. He tried not to sigh in relief at hiding it from view. The violent shades of blue and green on the delicate skin of Akira’s wrists were horrible to look at, and the blood stains paired with the intermittent trembling of his fingers were enough to make Ryuji’s stomach lurch. He knew he was hurting Akira through it all, he didn’t need to see the blood, he didn’t need to feel the little jerks of his pale fingers to know it. 

Even so, Akira didn't react at all, except for quietly opening his eyes when Ryuji brushed a thumb on the corner of his mouth, securing a small gauze on a bloody cut, lingering a bit, in something that was more of a caress than anything else. 

Grey eyes stared at him, with such raw fondness it was a little difficult to breathe. Akira reacted to the simplest things. Pain didn't really get much of a reaction from him. But unfiltered gentleness? It made him open up like a spring flower in the sun. 

It was simpler to see then, how badly Sojiro's initial attempt at tough love had backfired. Sojiro thought he was someone who needed the harsh words, the cold treatment, or he’d never amount to anything in life. But he had been wrong. Dead wrong. Akira was the kind of boy who couldn't bear tough love. He'd never thrive under it. He was made of ragged edges, bleeding open. He needed softness, and kind nothings he'd treasure forever, because that's the type of person he was. 

Akira knew how to be tough on himself to the point he was cruel and unforgiving. He wasn’t a stranger to torturing himself out of whatever weakness he thought he had. He pushed and pushed himself to the point of collapsing, and kept pushing even after that. He didn't need anyone to tell him he was weak or pathetic, he himself had this role covered. He never went easy on himself. He didn’t stop at his own weakness and he didn’t care for his blood.

He absolutely blossomed under kindness, though. It always catches him off guard, and he never looked like he quite knew what to do with it, but he always tried harder, and tried to be better each time someone so much looked his way. 

Ryuji softly caressed a pale cheek, mindful of the bandages, and he felt a little like his heart was whole again when his best friend looked so soft and peaceful with the gesture. 

Akira nuzzled the offered hand, eventually resting one side of a feverish face on the open palm. It was cool to the touch, and it held him so gently, he was drawn to it like a moth to light. He closed his eyes, sleepy and comfortable. A thumb was slowly caressing his cheek, and someone was whispering soothing words he couldn’t really tell apart. He felt safe. 

And that feeling, above anything else, was what made him suddenly understand. The warm and loving thing he felt in his chest was too foreign, out of place, and it made him remember. 

That hadn’t happened. That had never ever happened. 

Ryuji saw shadow Akira’s body tensing, and his feverish face leaned away from his hand.

Grey eyes focused on him, widening for a moment. He slowly sat up, one hand touching its own face, chasing the fleeting sensation of the caress it felt there.

“This is not real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see those tender moments?? Only possible because of the power of the comments, I read wonderful things and boom, comfort ideas. Ofc, many of them had to be put in other places of this story since we're in dark times rn, but you get me... every time someone is being good at comforting Akira, just know it's the direct result of something I read that made me feel warm inside *laughs*
> 
> So, I wanted to have Yusuke playing a big part as well, because all of the thieves are Akira's friends, and I wanted to give all of them space to do their thing, and be good to him being themselves. All of them can help in different ways and I wanted to take the time to appreciate Yusuke's friendship. He's considerate, and the way he can go on and on about art, and how he knows how to keep his distance, everything about it can be really reassuring. I wanted to have him handling the calming down part, and Ryuji handling the bandaging because I figured he would know about it the most (since he was getting beaten up by his dad for some years before said scumbag went away. 
> 
> About Akira not calling for help in this one, i have explanations. I think I saw lots of fanart and stuff about Takemi helping Akira post interrogation, and I was really down to that, like, that would make so much sense, who else could he call when he was supposed to be dead?? So I was totally going to write that. But then I was playing, and Takemi is one of the confidants that sends Akira a message on the following days, asking if he’s alive. (In the animation as well, she is surprised at seeing him alive a few days later). My point being, Akira didn’t call her on the night he came back home, nor he did it in the following days, when he was awake. Hence, my theory that he would rather swallow his tongue than let himself be seen by anyone while he was vulnerable. 
> 
> If Morgana and Futaba had seen him, they would have called Takemi to at least prescribe him something. I think they didn't know. It would make sense if they were just informed by Boss that everything was okay (the thieves didn’t expect the drugs or the beating, so they should only be worried if he made it home), and just kept working (because there were a lot of things to make sure of after they implemented the plan). And I can’t see Sojiro not remembering the local clinic doctor (who frequents his cafe and who he knows that is a doctor) and thinking of calling her if he thought it was even remotely serious. Which he would think if he had seen Akira's wounds, or known about the drugs. 
> 
> Also, I wanted to include something about how unsure Sojiro still acts around the kids, like, he wants to father them but he wants to respect their space. He talks about this when he’s telling Akira about Futaba, and how he wanted her to get better but he didn’t want to push her, so he ended up ‘making curry and cleaning the counter like some useless old man’. Sojiro being good at trusting the kids and giving them space is kinda what sells him to Akira, but I think sometimes he lets Akira get away with way too much (he never asks where he have been, and ofc it’s convenient, but Akira gets up w the wildest shit, and Sojiro is none the wiser, except maybe the boy's grades). And Akira, mister 'I don't want to bother anyone w my feelings or my needs' would so try to hide being injured from him at all costs.
> 
> In another note, I was very surprised with how many people liked flirty!Joker being a hot mess with Akira. I almost took that part out, I'll be honest I wasn't confident about it at all *laughs*. Thank you for all who told me that, I'm bit more confident about other parts of this story in which things get a bit steamy. 
> 
> Again, thank you so so much for everyone who got here! And thanks so so much for the comments and kudos! You guys make me think about lots of things, and I can rewrite parts so they're better, and, ofc, I get pumped to write some fluff and comfort! (it doesn't come as easily as the angst for me, unfortunately... but I take it very seriously, no part of angst can happen if there isn't enough comfort about it. It's a personal rule.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm really so sorry for the delay, I couldn't get to my computer (and, thus, the manuscript) for a while because of lots of reasons (not fun ones), but hey I'm back! Again, thank you so so much for the kudos and comments! We might not have a lot of people commenting, but all the ones that do leave lovely words that I appreciate a lot. 
> 
> Oh, right! I should warn that on the next chapter we will be having the spoilers for P5R. And when I say spoilers I mean heavy spoilers, like all of the 3rd semester, so heads up to anyone who wants to watch it or finish playing it! For those who don't, the chapter itself should explain everything that happened, so you don't have to had played it to understand.

It said a lot how what made him snap out of it was how out of place feeling warm and safe it was. They hated it.

“It is real,” Morgana found himself saying. “We are really here with you. And we can feel everything.” 

The shadow didn’t seem to know what to say about that. It kept a hand on its own cheek, rubbing absentmindedly on the spot it had been touched, gaze averted. It didn’t seem to know what to do about that either. 

Akira was still figuring out the whole affection thing. He had liked to be hugged, and he kind of wanted it again. He wasn’t sure if that was acceptable. It seemed a little excessive maybe, to want more of that so soon. He wasn’t used to it, and he felt… awkward? Undeserving of it, maybe. He dropped his hand as soon as he came in terms with the fact that it just wasn’t the same as when someone else did it. 

He looked up at Ryuji, and it was a bit different now, three people sitting on a very narrow metal cot. Yusuke tried to readjust his posture, and the shadow tensed at the sudden move in its proximity. The artist got up, and, reluctantly, Ryuji did the same, giving some space to Akira. 

Akira relaxed a little, and finally looked around properly, belated recognition dawning on his eyes as he took in his cell in the velvet room. 

“Oh. I’m out, then.” He sighed, tiredly, resting his head against the wall behind him. 

He swayed where he was sitting, and one shaky hand came up to rub at his own temple. 

He plopped down on the metal cot, managing to look mildly comfortable, which said a lot about how exhausted he was. He blinked sluggishly at them. 

"How did you hide it from Sojiro in the morning?" Futaba asked in a wisp of voice.

"Fevers are worse at night,” the shadow answered simply. “When morning came I felt a little better and popped in a pill I bought from Takemi. Sojiro didn't look under my clothes and I cleaned up in the bathroom. Made him go out for some makeup, citing you and how there was no reason to go out looking like this. Easy." 

He was awfully coherent and talkative for someone dead on his feet. Makoto grimly told him so, receiving a smile she couldn’t place.

"But if I wasn't like this, I'd have never been able to pull off our plan. You can't count on my resilience and then be mad at me for it." He smiled tiredly. He was someone with a death grip on his self control, and someone who could put forward arguments sound and convincing enough to sway someone as cold as Sae, after being beaten to an inch of his life. High as a kite. 

He fell silent, vaguely looking at some point on the ground. He probably still remembered the pain, judging by the way his face tightened almost imperceptibly in pain each time he drew a breath. It must mean Akira remembered every second of that, the memory carved in his very bones. 

Futaba couldn’t quite look at him hurt like that. 

“Akira, I know it’s… I know it was a painful experience, but… You can’t just bottle up all of your feelings and try to forget traumatic events. It’s not… It isn’t healthy.”

He smirked at that, something cheeky and achingly familiar, all of Joker's devil-may-care attitude in full bloom. 

"You think I don't know? I'm like the king of unhealthy coping mechanisms." His small laugh was familiar, the sound torn between smugness and sadness. He really was a glaring mess, pieces of everything jumbled together no matter how opposites they were.

"But what else could I do at the time? I've been threatened since I arrived, and we didn't have time to do anything except survive another day." His voice softened, and it hurt a little how he wasn't wrong.

"Back home my parents wouldn't have allowed me to get therapy, and when I arrived here I didn't have the money first, then I couldn't talk to anyone about the metaverse and everything.” His silence was grimier, and the whisper of _something_ permeated the air briefly at the mention of therapy. But that shadow didn’t know yet what that meant. It just shook its head, clearing away the faint feeling of something wrong. “No one could actually help me, and I couldn't break down in front of you, when everything was on our shoulders and you all needed someone to believe in." He looked away. 

"I know there must be a way out, that I could have done it better. But I couldn't find it, and even though I knew I was killing myself with it, I don't regret doing what I had to do to survive.” He looked firmly at them. “To protect whatever was left of my feelings and live another day. To take the stage and fucking deliver, to take what was given to me and help reform society." 

“I don’t care about society, I care about you!” Futaba yelled.

The shadow’s eyes widened at that, before his expression closed off again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Futaba backtracked, knowing him enough to understand her words were hurtful. Akira wasn’t doing the phantom thief stunt only to pass time, he believed in that, with his whole heart. “Of course I care. I wanted to help other people like me, who had lost all hope. At first, I just wanted to know what happened to my mom, but… What we were doing, that was important. I loved that. It’s just… I don’t think I care about it more than I care about you, or Sojiro.” She looked down, eyes swimming with tears.

“Futaba…” 

“No, she’s right, why- Why do you keep hiding things from us?” Ryuji stepped up, his body partially hiding her from view. Instinctively trying to shield her from what was upsetting her. “Fuck, Aki, we... we’re your friends.”

"What would you have done?" the shadow cut them off, sitting up again, angry. "Face it, we're the same. That's how we clicked together. When we're pressed against a wall, we push through it, we survive.” Steel grey eyes turned to glare at the blond. “You could have given up. Domestic violence breaks people. You could've become the worst of the worst. You were beaten up, you cried at the blows your mom received, and you were humiliated by your teacher at school. Everyone abandoned you then, and you were scared inside your own home.” He didn’t stop at the way his best friend’s eyes widened, but his voice softened. “But you pushed through it. You kept going. You chose to deflect everything with jokes and a bright smile. It breaks me, but... you know how to take a beating.” He looked away, voice small. “I just realized it after the interrogation, but… when you were being slapped by everyone, how you fell on the ground. You know how to move to avoid being hit where it hurts.” Because he had been hurt so many times, he started to know how to take it, and Akira hated it with all his heart. 

He hated so many things, and, suddenly, he wanted to say it.

“Haru knows harassment, she knows how it feels to be preyed on by someone older, she knows what it feels like to be something disposable for her own father. When she knew she was going to be sold off like a cheap whore by her blood and flesh she still helped Mona. She tried to fight back. She closed her eyes and ignored how his fiancée tried to force her into intimacy, she ignored her father's words.” His expression was furious. “Is it healthy? How she kept going and never stopped looking, never allowed herself to stop and feel? She didn't have even time to grief. She was thrown into a group with the man Shido ordered to kill her father and she had to show trust. She didn't blame it on anyone.” 

He seemed really agitated as he pressed on.

“Yusuke clung to art like a drowning man and pursued it, loved it the way he didn't get to love his mother. He spent his whole life pursuing wisps of his mother's memory in his art, to have something alike the feeling he had when he looked at Sayuri. He wanted to feel loved, he wanted to feel hope. But he was betrayed and abused, and taken advantage of, and he ignored it all and kept painting. Is this how you cope?” 

“Ok!” Ann’s voice cut him off, passionately, righteous fury etched on her tone. “We know! All of us went through a lot. But we actually talked about it! We went to you and vented, and made you go through some crazy stuff to help us out of our mess!” 

“It’s…” The shadow blinked, mouth open but nothing to say for himself. He hadn’t ever thought about things that way. That he was the only one who wasn’t talking. It just… It didn’t feel important? No, it felt important, he just… 

“Please, just talk to us,” Ann asked, because she was also brave, and asking for something so vulnerable to a shadow that closed off was just inviting a blunt refusal. 

Akira seemed to know that, because there was something like admiration in his eyes. He didn’t know how people did that, made themselves open and vulnerable. Asked for words, and didn’t expect to be hurt in return. Or didn’t care if they ended up hurt. He didn’t know. 

The silence stretched, as the shadow looked away, seemingly wrestling with its own emotions.

“Iwai noticed.” It came from seemingly nowhere, in a small voice that sounded too raw not to be conveying something very important, so they let the shadow talk. “You take my not stellar job at hiding my limp, and he seemed to have an idea of what happened. He… I mean.” He looked confused, but there was a softness to his voice. 

“He just said he had my back, and if I wanted, he knew some people who could... make justice. And then he took a look at the side of my neck and told me I had to get tested, because 'I was dumb and ended up with needles I couldn't exactly trust into me'. And that I… I could have caught something serious.” He looked at the stone floor, avoiding the scandalized looks of his friends. “I hadn't even considered it, so caught up in my head with everything. With applying makeup every morning and going to sleep with it on so no one would notice, with not flinching and not thinking about what happened.” 

He still didn’t look up at them, because he knew they didn’t like that he did so much to hide that from them. 

“I'm glad he told me,” he continued, before his courage failed. “It was really stupid of me, not having contacted Takemi. But I felt vulnerable that night and I couldn't really make myself see anyone." His voice was almost non existent, but he allowed the words to come tumbling down his lips. It wasn’t much, considering they kind of already knew what he was saying, but him talking about his feelings was still a very big thing. It was trust, something they fought nail and tooth for, since the first shadow. 

"I was really anxious waiting for the results, because what if I had caught something?” His voice trembled, and he scowled at the blatant weakness in it. Talking was already too much, and he couldn’t really risk a more vulnerable emotion other than annoyance at himself. “There was a mess of needles and open cuts, spit and blood everywhere. I couldn't tell if the needle was new, if it was clean or anything.” He nervously clenched his hands, rubbing his fingertips forcefully. “I could barely remember my name." 

He looked down at his own hands, then clasped them together and squeezed them tightly. Wringing them together in a nervous movement. 

"It was fine. I was clean, in the end, but it felt…” He hesitated, as if he hadn’t even thought before about what he felt about what happened. Like he wasn’t allowed what he felt, so he never spent too much time pondering about it. “I don't know.” He sighed, looking anywhere but at them. “It’s just that… I've never had sex, or had wanted to do drugs, but there I was. Waiting for the results of blood exams, scared of having caught something, and-” His voice cracked, and he needed a moment. “It felt more like they had taken something from me and that I could never have it back." 

His voice was thick with emotion, and he hugged his knees close to his chest. Almost trying to hide. If it could, it would just let the ground swallow it up, because the gutted expressions on his friends’ faces were just unbearable. Shadow Akira refused to look up, and something about him was more closed off than never before.

It was a standstill. There was nothing they could do about what Akira confessed. They couldn’t take back the needles on his skin, nor the fear in his heart. But the shadow was still there, so it had to mean they could still do something for their friend, if they could just figure out what.

Makoto was the one to save them, in the end.

“Akira, you know… I just wanted to say I really respect you.” She looked at him firmly, nerves of steel as she delivered something that, knowing her, was the greatest compliment someone could be deserving of.

The shadow seemed to know that, because its head snapped up, and grey eyes stared at her, slightly disbelieving. It didn’t say anything, almost waiting for her to take those words back. 

“That… means a lot coming from you.” His voice shook a little, and there was a sheer relief there that was just this hard to hear. 

Makoto needed a moment to really understand why. 

She had been the most vocal about how their plans were half assed, and how immature it was of them, of him, to just kick things and hope for the best. She had been made advisor, and, sometimes, she did look disapproving, but she never really meant like that. But it probably made him doubt she really trusted him as a leader. It made him try harder to be reliable, and, for him, that meant hiding how badly he was hurt, how much it still impacted him. 

“I’ve always admired you, and knowing what happened makes me even more proud to be in a team with you. I wish you didn’t have to go through that, but I’m… proud of you. They tried every underhanded method, but you still kept true to yourself, and I really admire that.”

“Oh.” He blinked, seemingly out of words. He wriggled his hands, trying to put together an adequate answer. “I’ve never looked at it that way. I guess.” He opened and closed his right hand in a nervous gesture, but didn’t look like he realised what he was doing.

“Akira, are your fingertips numb on that hand?” Makoto suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“It’s just… you keep rubbing your fingers, like you can’t feel them.”

“Oh.” The shadow looked down at its hands for a moment, before blinking confusedly, and answering. “Yeah. It felt a bit off after the interrogation.”

“They stepped pretty hard on your cuffed hands, and… the cuts and bruises over your wrists look really bad.” Makoto winced sympathetically. “They might have damaged a nerve there. When I was doing martial arts it happened to a girl in my class once, and she developed this habit of rubbing her fingers, or just biting down on them. Apparently the sensation is a bit off throwing. Your index finger and your thumb might be numb at the same time. Or the other three fingers. She told me there’s two important nerves there.”

“Oh.” Akira tried digging a nail on the pad of his index finger, blinking startled as he didn’t feel anything. Yes, thinking back on it, he hadn’t felt things very well on his fingertips lately.“I wasn’t sure. I thought it was just… you know, how sometimes I can’t feel things? It happens sometimes when things get a little too much. I didn’t pay attention. I figured it could be just stress or something.” He frowned, and tried poking his finger with the sharp end of a snapped chain on the ground. Nothing. The same as when he accidentally cut open that fingertip when making tools for Shido’s palace. He remembered it. He just hadn’t thought about it. “Yeah, I can’t really feel anything on the tips of my index finger and thumb. Sometimes it feels a little off on the other fingers as well, but… not as bad.” 

He fell silent, looking at his hand for a moment. He supposed he should feel… sad? Angry maybe. That they took more from him than he had previously thought. But he felt relieved somehow, to have something to prove how excruciating that hours in police custody had been. It felt… validating, having someone recognizing that what happened to him was bad, that it was serious, that… that it mattered. The bruises had faded, and his body went mostly unmarked. It bothered him, somehow, not having a physical evidence of the pain inflicted on him. Not having anything to prove it. Of course having his hands a bit fucked up was less than ideal, but… it was proof of what happened. That was the thing about hiding things, he idly thought. There was no one around to remember it, and, in some days, he started to second guess his own memory of the event. If it really had been that bad, or if he was just fussing over something small. 

It felt validating, having them treating it like it was a grave situation. Before, he had hid it, and he did want to be the strong leader for them, but a part of him had wondered if they would be bothered if they knew the full extent of what had happened. If there was even something to be bothered about, or if he was just weak. 

Sae had known, and she didn’t care in the least. Maybe that was the normal reaction. 

Akira looked at Sae’s younger sister, and asked what he had been wondering for a long time. 

“Did you… did you know what happened? Did Sae tell you?” 

_Had you known this whole time and never brought it up because it is just a normal thing that happens to people, and I shouldn’t be this upset about it?_

He didn’t say it aloud, but she knew it was what that was about. 

He just wanted to trust again, and nothing bad to happen to him because of that. He wanted to share that with them, and have their support, but he had been terrified of asking for it. Had been reading between the lines and trying to gauge their reactions, so he could not risk opening up, but also sleep at night with the knowledge that his friends cared. 

Makoto vehemently shook her head. 

“My sister didn’t want to tell me the details. I think she was ashamed of herself. Now I can see that she was ashamed of the fact that… your interrogation was just one of the many that were conducted in such a dishonorable way. And that she knew about it all along.” She scowled, hands clenched in angry fists. Like she thought it was shameful of her big sister to have done what she did. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t know it had been that horrible.” 

She was being completely honest. 

Akira looked at Ryuji and Morgana. 

“You really kept the secret,” the shadow said, a little bit taken aback. 

“Of course we did.” Morgana’s voice was gentle. Ryuji’s serious expression, and the lack of an outburst made it obvious he was into whatever that secret was. The other thieves turned to look at the shadow, who lowered his head.

“I told them,” he confessed in a whisper. “I downplayed it a lot, and refused to talk about my feelings, but I let them know, after it had healed up a little, that I kinda spent all night being… er, you know, being beaten up.” He hesitated, but continued. “Morgana saw when I went to the bath house. And Ryuji had known what was happening apparently from day one, so I told him that all of the hours I spent waiting for Sae were… well, you know. Like that. And that it might have been serious enough for me to be favoring one leg.” 

Morgana had seen it first, there was only too many times one could skillfully avoid it, since the cat waited for him in the bathhouse. He managed for a week or so, but eventually he was found out. It was just a few ugly bruises here and there, his wrist was starting to scab, but since he refused to have it wrapped up like a serious injury, it bled a little from grazing on his long sleeves throughout the day. It didn’t even look that bad, except maybe for the needle marks he had to explain, but the cat had almost cried anyway. 

Ryuji had almost cried as well, or maybe almost tried to go back there and punch someone for that, and Akira didn’t even show him anything. He just answered when inquired about it that the police had maybe kicked the shit out of him while he had been in custody, but no worries, he was just a little sore. That he could have fought back if he wasn’t high, and that- seriously, it was okay, stop making that face- and the blond settled for furious and protective anger. The blond accepted the excuses that it wasn’t that bad, even if he so obviously knew better, because Ryuji had been hiding injuries since he wasn’t even ten, and he knew what it felt, not wanting to talk about it. He compensated with a reckless drive to tackle Shido’s palace, and with a thunderous rage as he stared at the wretched politician and yelled at him for having done what he did to Akira. 

“I just… I don’t know.” He bit on his lower lip, trying to find the right words.

“You don’t owe us your secrets, Akira.” Haru gently stopped him. “It’s not a dispute. We are all your friends, but it’s natural that you’d find it easier to share some things first with some of us rather than the others. You don’t need to feel guilty about it.” Akira looked at her like he had never seen her before, and quite a bit like the world had just tilted off its axis. He had always tried to hang out with all of them equally, to… not show preferences? If he wasn’t ready to tell everyone, he just assumed he had to don’t tell any of them? 

He wasn’t all that versed in functional friendships to have ever considered that… each friend was different from the other, and if it was easier to say or do things with one of them, it wasn’t an insult to the others. All of his friendships were different, and he loved all of them all the same, and it was… okay. Futaba had made him keep the whole business with her uncle a secret, because she felt like he could understand it better. She said she wanted to tell the others, just not at the moment, and… it didn’t mean anything. She still valued them. She would go to Yusuke to talk about things she didn’t talk to him about, and she would ask Makoto’s advice over other things, and it was all fine. 

Honestly, it made sense. It was just weird, not feeling guilty about his feelings, in one way or another.

Futaba snapped him out of his thoughts.

“And you should know now that we… we really care. You made us feel safe with you. It’s really fine if you rely on us as well. You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing, but you also don’t have to feel like you need to hide things from us to protect us.” He didn’t have to hide things from her. She wanted to be there for him, as he had been for her.

He looked stricken for a moment, but he nodded at her. He had thought of telling her, he felt like she would have understood it, the oddly shameful thing that sometimes came with being hurt. But she still cried so easily, and she was so awful at deflecting, and she wouldn’t be able to hide it from Sojiro. And the old man was another story. 

Makoto spoke up again.

“We care too much, and we respect you too much for ever judging you for being in pain, Akira.”

He bit his lip, blinking fast. His grey eyes swam with emotion for a moment. 

“It’s really okay to cry, Akira-kun,” Haru gently chided him.

“I don’t… remember how to,” he confessed with a half smile. They thought back of the first shadow they saw, the only one who knew how to cry, and how firmly it had been locked away. 

It left a bitter aftertaste in their mouths, but it was progress, and that shadow was particularly difficult, and they would take it. 

The shadow looked distracted, seemingly deep in thought, absorbing what he was told. His hand had come up to his own cheek again, rubbing absentmindedly circles on it. It was particularly jarring, out of place and foreign, the reminder of how reassuring touch could be. He instinctively tried to feel for other memories, lurking in other cells, looking for one which had something like that, but most of them were gone, replaced by calm and healed patterns he didn't recognize. He wondered how much time he spent trapped. He hadn't been, at first. Then everything became too much, and he started being consumed by his own terror. 

The shadow looked at Ryuji's hands, the gaze lingering for a few moments.

Ryuji sighed. They were going to have to talk about that. Akira needed to tell him if he wanted something or if something was bothering him. But… he could indulge him a little this time. Being inside his heart had its perks, and it was a bit obvious what he wanted.

Ryuji couldn’t solve the problem, he wasn’t everything in Akira’s life, and that was honestly a very good thing. Makoto, Futaba and Ann had been able to be what Akira needed at that moment, they had known what to say to reach him, and the blond was grateful for it. 

But Akira was touch starved, and Ryuji had been filling that gap since the early stages of their friendship, and he was comfortable in that role. He himself felt like he needed that closeness, and the contact, so it came naturally. 

He plopped down next to Akira on the metal cot, and rested his hand on the top of very cold fingers. He was half aware he was blushing, but desperate times, and all of that. He could take the teasing from his friends that was sure to follow. 

“They’re right, y’know. It’s gonna be okay.” He smiled at Akira, because even if it was just a small part of him, a shadow of his best friend, Ryuji was still glad to see him, and it was easy to smile at that face. 

Akira gave a small smile back, looking down at their hands. His shoulders relaxed a little, heart jumping in his chest. It felt comfortable, and something inside his chest felt this bit warmer. 

He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. 

“Do you remember the first time you held my hand?”

Ryuji looked up at him, surprised, but Akira’s gaze was into a point on the floor as he talked. 

“It was just a few hours before I was arrested,” he continued. “You gave me the briefcase, but I kinda grabbed your hand and didn’t let go.”

Ryuji remembered. He thought about that a lot. He had needed to say aloud how much he believed in Akira, and that he knew he would come back to them, otherwise the blond just wouldn’t have been able to let that hand go. Sometimes, he kind of wished he hadn’t. 

“I didn’t know why I did it. But…”

“You were scared.” And he had wanted that small comfort. Ryuji tried to breathe past the guilt that swelled up. Of course he had been scared. Anyone would have been. They still let him do it.

“A little,” Akira admitted. “Not enough.” A small and vulnerable confession, delivered with a bitter smile. “But it gave me courage.” He looked at the ceiling, thoughtful. 

“Now that I think about it, that was the last nice touch I felt before they damaged my hands, and the sensation on those fingers was gone.” He had felt his glove’s fabric slide against the other glove, soft and smooth, and the warm hand gripping his tightly. A firm grip, and steadying words. “I think as last sensations go, it was a good one.” 

“Aki…”

“I don’t regret it,” he cut in. Firm, serious, hellbent about his goals as always. “Not being a phantom thief, nor getting caught, even if it means I got a little hurt in the process. I’m glad I could save all of you. I’m glad I stick to my beliefs, and didn’t betray myself.” 

It didn’t make things okay, not really. For things to be okay, a lot of other things should have happened, and they just didn’t. Everything was already in motion when they started as phantom thieves, and they just didn’t know. Their business in the metaverse should have been untraceable, but because there was another one with their powers, who could enter the same palaces, who was smart enough to follow them and kill off their targets, who could make them be caught red handed, who could enter a police station without raising suspicion, who would actually try to kill Akira. Because they understood too late, and because there wasn’t another option. Because of how blind people were, and because even God was pissed off already. Because of all of that, they just didn’t have another choice, and Akira had been thrown to the wolves. And because he loved them all, he didn’t regret it, but because they loved him back, it gutted them that he had to live through that. It crushed their hearts to know how many scars of that night he still had, to flinches and nightmares, to permanent nerve damage on his hands. 

“We’re going to save you, right back,” Ryuji eventually said in a thick voice, bumping their shoulders together. 

Akira huffed a small laugh. It sounded this bit disbelieving, so Ryuji raised his hand and cradled the side of Akira’s head, where it rested on his shoulder. Careful, because, in that place, the memory of pain was the same as being in pain, and that shadow could barely walk. 

“We totally will, your asshole,” the blond insisted, and there was a small shake of the shadow’s head. 

But there was something light about his demeanor now, and he looked less anxious. More open. 

“Do you happen to know what is it with the last shadow, Akira?” Morgana asked, startling the group. The cat looked sheepish for a moment. “I can feel there’s only one more left, aside the crying one, but apparently that one comes and goes, so we probably can’t help it that much… I figured he could help us with some tips, like some shadows did before.”

Shadow Akira looked thoughtful for a moment, before replying.

“The last one is a mess,” he said the words with a detached sort of emotion, but it rang true. Akira post interrogation didn’t envy the next shadow’s luck. 

The group pretended they didn’t feel their stomachs sinking to their feet at hearing that piece of information. 

“It didn’t live as long, but it’s really unstable., Akira continued, something alive in the air as he tried to access the other shadow. “He knows about… about what happened after Yadabaolth. He saw dead men walking, and he had never been so alone. By then, his spirit was crushed, and it was by his hand that the last of his personas were executed. He was the last to mutilate our heart, and…” He stopped for the first time, somewhat wary, uncertain. Afraid. He leaned a little more into his best friend. Soaking up in the warmth, because it was suddenly very cold. “He was the one who went back home, and finally understood it was never home at all. That it’s not… I don’t know what it is. But he needs to run away. He thinks about it at night. But he’s trapped.” 

His voice was barely a whisper, but it sounded deafening. 

“Is there… anything else? That you want to tell us?” Ann asked, because they all knew they had to leave, fast. 

The shadow straightened up, leaving the warmth of the hug it had been given to properly look up at Yusuke. It seemed a little embarrassed, but it shouldered it on.

“Your drawing… The one you started here. I really wanted to see more of it.”

Yusuke smiled, and felt oddly accomplished. He knew lots of artists only cared for fame, and big expositions. But he had found he loved art because he wanted to touch people’s hearts with it, he wanted to give them hope, and happiness. It was more than flattening having made it so. 

He had given his friend something to look forward to. A promise of sorts as every unfinished project always was, something good and that could only have such value because Akira trusted him. Trusted Yusuke to still remember him, to keep the promise, and, ultimately, trusted that Yusuke meant all of his actions, that he was still his friend. That they being apart was just temporary, and that their friendship was stronger than however long they would be apart. In the end, it was about promising Akira that all of them still thought of him, that they would still be his friends even after all of those months, enough so Yusuke would know how to draw them together again. Enough so Yusuke would actually want to meet up again with Akira, and hand him the drawing. It was about after, something that Akira had been so terrified to think about. Only ever running forward, ignoring everything else, not thinking of going back home, not thinking of his wounds or of his heart. 

Yusuke understood that, because he, as well, spent so much time trying to hope again. And so much time before that trying not to think about what came next.

“Of course.” He smiled, and his voice only cracked a little.

The shadow flickered out of existence gently, its light no brighter than a candle’s. They tried not to feel sad about its departure, and what that meant.

Because it meant that, at that point, what he had really wanted was to hope that their friendship was important to them too, and that it was something he could have after he left Tokyo. As the year drew closer to an end, and after he sacrificed so much in their name, he must have wondered a little bit, where they would stand after this.

Morgana eventually snapped them out of their thoughts.

“We should get going. We have to get to that last shadow.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Ann tentatively asked. “It means we are close to finishing it.”

“Yeah, but…” the cat hesitated. “I can feel where Joker is, which means he wants to be found. Which also means that he might have been having trouble with that last shadow.”

They shared a concerned look between themselves. If there was a pattern they were recognizing was that the more they advanced, the more complicated things got, and anything Joker had a hard time solving was bound to be tough. And they hadn’t heard very promising things about that shadow. They had known Akira’s last months in Tokyo were… difficult, to say the least, and whatever was happening at his home couldn’t be good, but they had been hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Well, we should hurry, then,” Yusuke tightly said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Ryuji and Mona having some deeper knowledge about the interrogation, this is based on the Thieves' den interactions. The rest of the thieves joke around a lot about the interrogation (we have Futaba and Makoto and Yusuke joking about tv series, and if cops really do eat ramen and stuff), while Ryuji and Mona have the only er sane reaction to it. Aka, being very upset about it, Ryuji wanting to hunt down the officers and make them pay, to which Mona gently tells him Akira isn't thinking of revenge at all. It's one of the instances in which you see them interact very well when left alone. Anyway, I like to think that the other thieves would have been upset if they knew better, and that's why I wrote only Mona and Ryuji knowing a little more about it. I think it also explains how hellbent Ryuji was about defeating Shido. He kept talking about how it was more than their average targets, that they had to do it for Akira, and Ryuji was the one to yell at Shido, taunt him if he remembered their leader, and then Akira took off his mask, and Ryuji said they would make Shido pay for what he made Akira go through. 
> 
> About the nerve damage, it is a thing that 100% can happen. It did to me, and I was also very surprised to know that trauma around the region of the wrist could do something to your fingertips. So, when I watched all of that manhandling Akira's wrists with the metal cuffs I was like ouch, that could certainly do it. Pretty weird, the human body, sometimes you can never even imagine the things that could potentially happen in a situation. So overall, I prefer to write about things I know firsthand *laughs* 
> 
> I think one of the beautiful things about Akira having such diverse connections is that people can show him very different things. Iwai would certainly be the most knowledgeable about what the police has an habit of doing, and he would totally be the voice of reason about unknown needles being a bit of a big deal. He's an awesome confidant, and it's a very good thing that Akira had him along the ride. Also, here we appreciate Makoto's formal training, and the fact that she's kinda the only one who could really fight in the real world. She would know lots of injuries related to punches and kicks. Also, I feel like Akira and the others really look up to her (as the last shared brain cell of the group sometimes *laughs*), and that Akira sometimes would feel unsure about appearing too reckless to her. Lots of his plans do involve a lot of kicking things and hoping for the best, and Makoto often disapproves of this (which is sensible). He might feel like he could lost some of her respect if she understood fully how reckless the plan, and how bad (in his head) his execution of it, was.
> 
> Oh, right, and the briefcase scene! It's about that moment in the animation, just because it was a very beautiful moment, and I think it's kinda special because it's the only time you really have Akira initiating contact with anyone. Ryuji offers him the briefcase, and Akira just grabs his hand and hold it, before taking off. I think it's also very nice imagining Akira being this bit nervous despite everything, and it's a very human thing, seeking for comfort, specially knowing bad things would come. For those who didn't watch it, I found this post with the stills of the scene: https://lenreli.tumblr.com/post/178371510130
> 
> Aaaand we are getting out of the velvet room soon!! I'm kinda excited about it. Honestly, again, thank you so, so much, for the comments and kudos! I'll keep trying my very best, until the end!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must note that in this chapter we have the spoiler for P5R! Also, this chapter is a lot bigger than the average, heads up. 
> 
> Some of you might have noticed, but now we have the estimated chapters down. The velvet room part is almost over, but we will be solving some leftover problems after that, as well as having some well deserved fluff/comfort/domestic bliss/ friendship feels/found family moments, hence why this is not the last chapter.
> 
> In another important note, someone pointed out that there were a few typos on previous chapters, and I wanted to say that if someone noticed someone like that, please inform me so I can fix it! I try to revise it as much as I can, but normally I end up adding things as I edit, so new parts come in, mistakes might happen. I'll reread the whole thing as soon as I can, but there's really only so much I can do, since this is nota beta-ed. askdjals 
> 
> On another note, I was reading through some akiryu fics (bc I thought it'd be nice leaving comments for people who write the pairings I love, like I received comments here), and found an interesting, very short fic, that translates very well lots of Ryuji's feelings. I'll leave this link here (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641487), check it out if you have some time! I've read other fics really well written, but ended up recommending this one because I thought it might interest the people who read this fic since it is a bit of an character study (but succint like I couldn't ever be *laughs*). If anyone has written or know of some akiryu fic, please send it to me, I'll read it and comment (except if there's something particularly triggering on the fic, so I won't be able to, but I'm hope you all understand).

It was easy to find the place they were looking for, because the farther they walked, the colder the room got. It wasn’t the same chill they felt occasionally when some shadow showed them a moment of emotional distress. It was a bone deep coldness, something that appeared to seep the warmth from their very chests, leaving them empty. It felt a little like… like their hearts were turning to stone, in sympathy of the lack of emotion outside. Something slightly sinister permeated the air, but they couldn’t quite place it. 

Haru tried hard not to compare, but the feeling was eerily similar to what she felt when she traveled to Pompeii’s ruins, and… stared at the petrified corpses on the ground, behind a panel glass. There was just something horrifying, and oddly detached about it, and… Something about looking at those corpses and wondering if they knew what was coming, if that was why some of them were just lying down. She knew that they had died of gas poisoning, and not from the lava or fire, but she wondered if it was any better, if suffocating was any mercy, if their lungs burned. It was something about wondering if those people had looked at their demise on the horizon and… accepted it, knowing they would have never gotten out of it in time, and they might as well finish their food, or lie on their beds again. It was about death, and about that crippling horror of looking at someone who had known it was coming and had just… sat there and waited for it to happen. 

She wished, with everything she had, that she was just worrying too much. That the feeling wasn’t similar at all, and she was just a little bit jumpy because it was too dark, and the red light flashing on the main hall projected odd shadows on the nearby corridors. 

The rest of the group was on the edge as well. It was miserably cold, and Futaba sighed, watching, fidgety, as her breathing condensed in front of her. She traded a commiserating look with Ryuji, both of them mourning their lost hoodies. Futaba leaned closer to the person on her side and-

“Oh, God, Ann, you’re warm!” she excitedly shouted, immediately taking her friend’s arm and cuddling with it easily. It was a good thing being short sometimes. 

“Oh.” Ann blinked in surprise, staring at her hand. “Yeah, I guess? I just felt so… lonely and desperate, I ended up thinking of Carmen. And then I felt better.” She wasn’t feeling cold, even if her breathing still formed small clouds in front of her lips.

“Ann’s heart had always had an affinity for fire,” Morgana commented. “The velvet room is not exactly the metaverse, but it’s similar to it on some points. I guess since she had those powers before, and her mind remembers it, she can still use it to some extent.”

“Oh.” Yusuke perked up. “Maybe that’s why I’m not shivering like the rest of you. I concentrated on my own Persona as well, and… I can’t really feel the coldness anymore.”

“Gosh, wish it were me,” Ryuji grumbled, taking Ann’s other arm and trying not to miss his hoodie too much. It would be easier if he could still feel his hands, or his toes, maybe. It was freakingly cold. Makoto and Haru were faring a bit better with their own coats, but even they were trembling. 

Ryuji and Futaba distantly wished they could just imagine their hoodies and make them appear again, but apparently they just couldn’t believe in hoodies that magically appeared. 

He wondered aloud if he couldn’t just imagine his thief’s outfit and make it appear, to which Morgana tiredly replied that for their thieves’ outfit to appear there, they’d have to summon a fierce rebellion to defy the velvet room’s very restraints- or some shit like that, to which Ryuji translated as: nope, not gonna happen. He kept mooching off Ann’s fiery warmth. 

Morgana stopped in front of a nondescript cell, and the group halted behind him to peer inside.

The door was open, and they could make out the outline of Joker’s long coat on the far back of the room. A shadow was sitting on the cot. 

The group entered, and immediately winced at the atmosphere.

The air between the two felt thick, and charged with resentment. Joker was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. Shadow Akira was looking away with a scowl. 

“What happened, Joker?” Morgana asked, standing between the two and casting anxious looks at them.

“It’s complicated.” Their leader uncrossed his arms, one hand ruffling his own hair in a nervous gesture. “This shadow has also the memories from him after going back home and…” He looked at his twin, but his gaze went totally ignored. “Well, you might say we’re not on the best terms.” 

The shadow huffed. 

“To say the least.” 

Joker winced slightly. At least he had managed to keep the shadow where it was, instead of getting it quarantined. But he knew there wasn’t a lot he could do to convince him. Joker had been there the whole time, and he had yet to have success in that area.

“Well, if it consoles you all, this really should be the end of this mission,” Joker said, turning to them. “You get this one out, and Akira should wake up the next morning. Since he’s sleeping right now, he probably won’t be locking up anything else here, so you won’t get any more work to do. Everything will be alrig-“

“Can you just shut up for five minutes? God,” his twin cut him off. Joker sighed, but fell silent.

“Is it okay if we talk to you?” Makoto tried to gently coax the shadow.

“Sure,” it answered, but didn’t quite look at her. “I know you’re here for the memories, so, cutting that chase, I can also show you that.” 

It was… odd. The shadow was clearly closed off, but it didn’t mind sharing what he knew. There was a wrongness there they couldn’t quite place. They just hoped the memories could shed some light on the matter. The room plunged into darkness, and they tried to hold onto hope anyway.

  
  


Suddenly, they were in Shibuya. It was cold, a few specks of snow falling gently over the people coming and going. They saw themselves walking away, away from Akira, they noticed, leaving him alone at the train station. His bag didn’t have a talking cat anymore. The metaverse was gone. It was a beautiful night, even so. 

They could feel the cold. Not how the velvet room had been cold a few seconds ago, but just… Naturally cold, the wind biting on their faces as it snowed. They could feel the snowflakes on their skins. Melting on their cheeks, dampening their hair and their clothes. Their steps connected firmly to the ground, and they could smell the cold air of December, and the smoke every metropoly had. 

Emotionally, though, the scenery felt faraway and impossible to reach. Akira felt unreachable, heart shut firmly closed as he stood alone in the busy train station. He didn’t look at them.

Akira clearly had felt hurt enough for the memory to be that solid, but at that point his heart had been so carefully shut he would have never noticed them there. They could feel it, in the same way they felt hope of reaching Akira’s shadow in that interrogation room, they could feel that that shadow wouldn’t acknowledge them. That Akira was… distant. They could taste the bitterness of the pain blossoming on his chest. The sheer loneliness on his heart. 

Makoto startled at seeing her sister approaching. She was still processing that, since she had absolutely no idea Sae had been following them, when she heard it. 

“I want you to turn yourself in.”

Akira’s heart lurched in his chest with a dull pang. After everything, he still wasn’t done? They would ask even more out of him, when he was still reeling from the past few hours, from getting fucking erased from reality, from battling a God and wondering if that was it, if he had led his friends to die by his side because his mission had never been possible since the start. When he still felt like someone had punched a hole in his heart, because he had loved Mona, and just breathing hurt knowing he had lost him forever. He had… Mona had been with him for so long now, they had been inseparable, they… When Mona started to pull away, and Akira reached out for him, he had seen it in electric blue eyes.

Morgana knew he was going to disappear if they won.

He didn’t say anything, because he could have never put that weight on Akira’s shoulders. Mona didn’t tell him, even if that would have made the cat look better, selfless and everything. Even if he could have had more time to say goodbye properly before vanishing. He didn’t say anything, because he knew Akira would care, and Mona had never ever toyed with his feelings. Morgana knew he couldn’t live if they killed Yaldabaolth, but he also knew humankind would never be free if they didn’t. He knew Akira absolutely had to fire that shot, because all of his leader’s heart believed in that. Everything he was, all he believed in, was in that bullet. He was already carrying all of the hope mankind could gather. Mona didn’t want him to do it knowing that would kill a friend. He didn’t let the weight of that decision fall upon Akira. 

And Akira was so damn grateful for that, but also so heartbroken he could barely breathe. 

He could barely breathe, he had wrestled back humanity’s free will at the cost of a loved one, and Sae was asking more. He didn’t want to do it. 

But he would, he had always known he would do it, because the price had never mattered, he was going to change things. 

Then, and it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of water on him again, Akechi showed up, and offered to testify. 

Relief washed down his whole body, and Akira could only stare. He wouldn’t have to go to jail anymore? Akechi would be able to pay for what he did, and maybe start over or something. And Akira would be able to walk free, he would be with his friends, and things would be fair, he didn’t have to suck it up and go to jail just because the prosecutors didn’t want to let a phantom thief win. He was going home, to Sojiro, and to the team. 

He had looked openly distrustful, of course, and asked what was the deal. He knew Akechi, the detective didn’t do things just because. He had to be up to something. Akira stared. 

It was jarring, looking at him again. A dead man walking. His almost killer. His way out of jail. Akira didn’t know what to think. Akechi sullenly told him he just wanted to come clean. Pay some kind of debt to them. 

It was wrong. It didn’t make sense. Where did his pride go? Akechi had taken pride on being the prince detective, he had said at Shido’s how the last thing he could ever bear was how people would see him after the truth came out. He had asked for revenge, he asked the thieves to drag Shido’s name through the mud. He never asked for them to tell people the truth. He didn’t care for justice, not like that. He wasn’t the self sacrificing idiot Akira was. He wouldn’t let people spit on his name, as Akira had been ready to let happen again. 

Akira knew it didn’t make sense. But… 

But he could go home. He could just turn his back now, without worries, and go back to his friends. The night was beautiful, and they were going to have a Christmas party tomorrow. Leblanc would be cozy and warm, and they would be together again. 

He could go to bed that night in the familiar warmth of the attic, and look at the heater Sojiro kept refueling, and he could just miss Mona without anyone watching. He could even cry, and tomorrow, he would be with everyone, and they would hurt together, and try to smile again together. 

He could turn his back, and things would be completely fair, a guilty man would be justly arrested, and an innocent one would go home. He would be with his true family, and everything would be okay. 

Maybe it did make sense. Maybe that was the way things were supposed to happen. 

He went home, and he had Sojiro and Futaba, and they were a family in all the ways it mattered. Sojiro even pulled him aside and… 

He promised he would always be on Akira’s side. It was a little out of place, Sojiro didn’t say those things aloud except under very strenuous circumstances, like on Wakaba’s death anniversary. Akira knew he meant it, but Sojiro really wasn’t one for talking that much, and for fret over his charge like that. 

But it was… It was nice. Akira had wanted those words so much. He had wanted that night, and he had wanted the Christmas party on the next day. They ate, and they poked fun at each other, and Ryuji brought sweets and sat by his side. Sojiro bought fried chicken, and Morgana came back. Akira wasn’t in jail. Everything was going so well. 

They watched him smile to himself as he went to bed that night. Cat carefully snuggled up with him, the heater warming up the attic as it snowed outside. 

They were still watching the snowflakes falling when the shadow appeared by their side and spoke up. His gaze was miles away. 

“Then… I dreamed,” he kept talking, listless. “I was in my prisoner garb, because wherever that was, it was a prison again. Even if it looked like our school. I had been locked up, and I couldn’t go home.” His eyes were distant. “I just wanted to go home.” His voice was small, but it cracked slightly even so. “I kept hearing you guys’ voices, things I shouldn’t know. About your fears, and regrets.” 

The shadow pointedly didn’t show that piece of memory. He recited it to them, a haunted look on his pale features as he did. As if he couldn’t make himself hear it again, his friends, his amazing friends, pouring their hearts out to the one adult that seemed to care. A therapist. A professional who should know what they were doing, someone who-

“There was a voice… and later I realised it was Maruki… Maruki, the teacher. Our school therapist. The one person who should have been helping us.” 

He looked away, so much grief on his expression it was a little hard to breathe. How could he have let that happen? All of his friends, himself, they… they trusted, and all of his fears and hopes turned into weapons against themselves. 

“Anyway, he sounded disappointed in me. Said how I hadn’t accepted it yet. The way he said it. I just knew whatever wrong thing was happening, had been happening for a few days at least. I could finally place that feeling of wrongness I’ve been feeling for a while. Since we defeated Yaldabaoth. Since… things started to go too well.”

The scene changed.

Of course things went to hell. 

Akira slept one day, and when he woke up, everything stopped even trying to make sense. 

Because of course. When have things worked out for him? How was someone capable of being so fucking naive? After everything he went through, after all he had seen, how was it he let himself hope? Why did he let himself trust again?

Morgana was this tall _human_ stranger. He claimed he had never been a cat. He didn’t act like even his friend at all, just someone handsome and distant, uninterested in whatever Akira was up to, uncaring of where he went or what he did. No conversations. No company. Just a pretty faced stranger who sometimes sat on his couch, with a bland personality. No cheeky comments. Nothing. 

He went downstairs. Futaba’s mom was alive, and she didn’t have any work to do, apparently, because she was around a lot. Sojiro and her kept taking Futaba to strolls, to check out the new goods at Akihabara, to eat good food. Wakaba was almost a doll of a mother, with all the good qualities, and none of the drive for her research that made her work long hours. They were a closely tied family, and there was the offer that Akira joined them, but it wasn’t… It didn’t feel right, Sojiro was acting off, Futaba was as well, and Wakaba? Wakaba was dead, had been for years, but her corpse kept talking to Akira. 

Even Akechi was different, when he was released from jail for no reason at all. No great ambitions, none of his resentment over Akira’s life being better than his, even if Akira was still trash. Just snarky comments and smart ideas. Someone to freak out together over the madness taking over the world. He had been too different since Yadabaolth, nothing like the odd truce they managed at Shido’s. That Akechi still made sense, that Akechi had felt real. Akira hadn’t mind the name calling, or the second murder attempt, even if he did mind Akechi trying to kill his friends, very much so, and he fought tooth and nail to get everyone out of that mess. Anyway, it felt so much better having everything out in the open, Akechi just simply, plainly screaming at him and trying to maim, hating him for having the little things he had, it was good, it made sense. 

Akira liked knowing people, and, at that moment, he could finally understand Akechi. 

The pride, the resentment, the ruthless, the cruelty. It made sense. It was just revenge, and innocent people dying, and someone who didn’t care about killing. It was about power, and it was about choosing to do exactly what Akira decided not to do with it. Even saving them, it was about saving face, and Akira understood, the stubbornness, the fact that some people just didn’t want to crawl back to life after it got to a low point. 

He wished it wasn’t like that, because death had always been meaningless, it didn’t change anything, and Akira desperately wanted change. The thieves were out there, risking everything, because they hated the status quo, they didn’t believe in the way things were. 

Ann had been the first one to really get it, when she stood over Kamoshida’s fallen shadow and decided she wanted justice more than she wanted blood. She wanted everyone to spit on his name, she wanted him to feel horrible, to be disgusted with himself, to crawl, to live with the stigma, and to suffer and rot in jail. She wanted him to acknowledge what he did, she wanted Shiho to get a closure, she wanted everyone to know what some teachers still did to their students, and she wanted those students to know there was still hope. She didn’t want him dropping dead and being buried. She wanted him to confess, because that would change things. 

Death was meaningless. Even if Akira had put a bullet into Akechi’s skull, he wouldn’t have any less nightmares, he wouldn’t forget how scared he had been, his hands would still be damaged, his fingertips would forever be numb. 

And that’s where he just didn’t understand revenge, because Akira was a thief at heart and he understood profit, he understood advantages, he understood deals, and he had always been more of a mercenary than a passionate killer. Death didn’t reward him. Changed hearts did, sabotaging the status quo by making the people in power stop abusing everyone else? That changed things, that made it worth it. One less overworked person, who wouldn’t be leading a miserable existence, trying to make meets end? One less terrified student, who would finally feel safer at school? And the sweet taste of those high and mighty falling to their knees and having to just take all of people’s hatred and contempt, having to own it up and live with that? It made a difference. It unsettled society, made people think, made them question why things were the way they were, and that was the seed of change. 

Death, on the other hand? Nothing. Akechi would die without thinking twice about who he killed, or who he made lose their minds. Nameless people who were just taking the train back home. Train drivers who just had a job, and didn’t really have anything to do with the Ministry of Transport. Haru’s father. Futaba’s mother. They would live with the absence, with that hollow feeling in their chests, and he would be none the wiser. 

So, Akira had never wanted Akechi dead. And, just like that, he wasn’t. Akira wasn’t sure if he wished him alive, but he didn’t want him dead, and now he wasn’t. He wasn’t even how he had been when he saved their lives at Shido’s palace. He was this new person, he was a dead man walking who was even nice company on some days. With all the bothersome parts stripped away, as if they hadn’t existed in the first place. Just the qualities, a quirky kind of harmless madness. Gratitude for them even, delivered in snarky words, but there. He didn’t apologise for having gloated when he thought he had stood above Akira’s corpse, but he didn’t bring it up either. He didn’t call him names, even if Akira hadn’t really done anything to change the detective’s opinion on him. He was the same attic trash as before, but Akechi wasn’t bringing attention to it. He would joke about killing, but he didn’t go behind their backs to do it, like he would have probably done before. 

And everything about him being back was so convenient, Akira wondered sometimes. Akechi decided to be cooperative, even if he had never worked in a team before, as if he didn’t need to be convinced of its benefits, which was this bit odd, but awfully convenient. Hell, _Sae_ had asked, back when she was interrogating Akira, why he decided to work with a team. Because there were perks on working with others, but there were undeniable perks about working alone, and any reasonable person would weigh the pros and cons before committing to a decision. 

Akechi had been more than capable of tackling palaces alone, he had been into Madarame’s, and Kaneshiro’s, and he had made his way into Shido’s without breaking a sweat. He had never needed the added manpower, and he had known how teams could easily crumble under the suspicion of treason, that was what he used to try and break them apart. 

Numbers didn’t necessarily mean that much, if you knew how to play your hand, and Akechi had shown how good he was at that. Akira should be a rotting corpse sunken somewhere in Tokyo Bay by now, if it wasn’t for his dumb luck of Akechi making one stray comment about _pancakes_ of all things. That hadn't been the power of friendship, or any mushy concept like that, it was pure, unfiltered, dumb luck. Of course, the team helped, but, in the end, Akechi’s solo strategy was good, it was probably better than theirs anyway. For all purposes, Akira should have died at the ripe age of seventeen, and every one of his friends would think he killed himself. If Akechi didn’t dispose of the body- and Akira had never had the stomach to ask what had been the plan about that- his friends, Sojiro, all of them would have to go on with their lives knowing someone they loved just… decided to die, and none of them could save him. Knowing he had died, and it was their fault. He had doubted it before, but now he had this feeling that that would have broken his friends in a way none of them would really recover. 

And that was the thing about working with a team. There was also the emotional weight of trusting, and… opening up to the possibility that one person of the group dying, all of them would crash and burn. So, yes, working together had its perks, but it wasn’t that much of the obvious better choice, not like that. Akira wasn’t that stupid to not know it.

Even so, this Akechi that showed up just… he operated under the same logic that the thieves had, that the more the better, more people would necessarily be more efficient, even if… that wasn’t necessarily true? Even if Akechi, more than anyone, knew how much of a risk working in a group was, how much every single member was, in a way, a liability. 

Of course, he could have just changed his mind at Shido’s, and decided teams were better. But why would he just stop everything else? Akira could understand being confused, but the way the detective had gleefully laughed before pulling the trigger on him at the police station was one of the most genuine things he had seen. And Akira could understand where he was coming from, he had finally understood Akechi at Shido’s, but one essential part was his hatred, his lesser noble feelings, his pride, and how much he was willing to hurt others to get what he wanted. It wasn’t everything, but it was something essential, something deep that came from years of resentment, and it just felt… shallow, that it was suddenly gone. 

The thing was, everything truly distasteful seemed to be carefully gone, as if you could do that to people, reduce them to something you find suitable, and throw away all the rest as if that didn’t make what they were. 

It felt wrong. But he didn’t have any proof, he couldn’t tell up from down. Yoshizawa didn’t seem to know what to say either. 

His strict teacher at school was being so lenient it was borderline ridiculous, as if someone had changed his personality entirely, erased what was, and replaced it with something more bearable. Akira won the lottery, as did hundreds of other people. The scammer at Shinjuku was replaced by a charitable man overnight. Dead people kept talking to him, and he didn’t even know if they were really dead anymore.

Akira couldn’t tell if he was overthinking, or if he just wasn’t seeing the bare minimum of what was happening. Maybe he just didn’t understand Akechi’s reasons yet, maybe he just didn’t understand Maruki yet, maybe… Maybe he shouldn’t be feeling the way he was. Everything was a confusing mess, and he didn’t have the people he usually relied on for those things. Makoto’s solid advice, Morgana’s insights, his friends’ steady support, everything was gone. 

He desperately pushed it all down, and tried to… do something. Pull himself out of another mess he had no idea how he got himself into. He couldn’t- he didn’t have time to lose with that mess of emotions tangled up in his chest. 

He had to keep moving, put one foot after the other, one day at school after another.

They had never seen Akira look so lost. They were still deep inside the memory, but the memory itself felt washed out and thin. Lifeless, as if Akira had been too torn inside to even register what was happening around him. The silence was deafening. The thick and raw panic felt like it was drowning them, the colours looked faded, and Akira was just… absent from his own body most of the time. Gone was his restless energy, his bouncy need to meet his other confidants, try out new food or buy some knick knackery. He was silent and empty. 

He would wake up in the morning and try to talk to one of them, and he’d go back to his room. Then he’d lie down in bed and just… stay there. He wouldn’t go after his other friends, he wouldn’t read, or play games. Not even making some tools, a repetitive and non demanding activity he had relied on before palaces, when he was too worried. He’d lie there, all alone and stare blankly at the ceiling. Thinking of the words he said. Wondering if that could be enough. If he had the right to take away from the people he loved. If it was selfish to want his friends to remember him, and who they were after they overcame all that happened to them. 

Morgana acted like a stranger. An aloof and cool, tall stranger, who wouldn’t even talk to him. Gone was his prickly sense of humour, his encouraging words, his small and ever present companionship. He didn’t care if Akira slept or not, or what he thought of a shop he passed by. 

Ann barely looked at him, happy that she was hanging out with Shiho, looking at cute clothes and eating sweets. She wasn’t that girl he saw trying to improve, who fought fiercely by his side, who made Kamoshida crawl on the ground and beg, and who spared his life and demanded repent. She hadn’t stayed by Shiho’s side while she recovered, and she hadn’t found strength in that. She didn’t remember Akira was there for it all.

Yusuke as well barely spared him a glance. Busy with his new composition, Madarame standing proudly by his side. That man still had let his mother die and did nothing. Maybe because Yusuke hadn’t told Maruki of that, or maybe because Yusuke didn’t remember his mother so he couldn’t have even imagined her in a perfect world. All he had was the man who watched her have a seizure and let it kill her, and stole her self portrait with her precious son. But he didn’t know it, and it seemed to be enough, not knowing. He didn’t remember striving for his art. He didn’t remember struggling to understand what he was painting for, he didn’t remember having looked at the world’s horror and decided to paint it over, to make people have hope. He didn’t remember their talks.

Makoto barely talked to him as well. She had her father home, and her sister. She didn’t remember having learned to think for herself, to do what she felt it was right. She didn’t remember how it felt to be the target to Sae’s frustration, to be called useless, to feel like a burden. She didn’t remember talking to him about her father, about his legacy. About her hopes of being on justice’s side. About finding family in their small group of misfits. 

Haru stood by her father’s side, arm in arm, and he explained to her everything she had needed to know after his death, and she hadn’t. A father who hadn’t sold her for the highest bidder, who hadn’t been down to let her with an older man as a mistress, to be used as a sex toy. Her father was kind, and attentive. She wasn’t the same person who had talked to Akira in long afternoons at the school’s rooftop. About how she didn’t know how to trust in people anymore. About how terribly her employees had been treated. She wasn’t the same girl who had had to stand by her father’s murderer and pretend she didn’t know. She wasn’t the same person who had stood up against her father over and over, for what was right. She hadn’t found that courage, and she was still a doll. She wouldn’t remember a boy who was her friend when she was another person. 

Ryuji didn’t remember anything they went through together. He was still terrible at accepting compliments, but he was smiling. The group was talking about college, something Ryuji finally had a shot at going, because his leg was fine. His life hadn’t changed as drastically, he still clearly had self esteem issues, and his father wasn’t better, he just felt less of a burden on his mother. Even so, and God, it _hurt_ , he still looked happy at seeing Akira, a knee jerk reaction he himself seemed surprised to have. His teammates frowned, and when asked about how they knew each other, the blond stopped, and… His normally warm gaze was blank and confused. For the first time ever, he looked at Akira and there was… nothing. 

His best friend, and, admittedly… more than that, at least for Akira, eventually walked away and didn’t spare him even a last glance. 

Akira stood there alone for a long time. 

There was this thing about what was happening. It was as if everything had been rewritten, but only parts of it, making every single moment a glaring paradox. His friends were there, but… not really. Every one of them still remembered his name, but they didn’t remember what mattered. What made them friends. They barely were the people Akira knew. 

Everything around him was crumbling, nothing made sense and he had this nagging feeling on the back of his mind saying he had finally snapped and lost his mind. 

It was dark again, and while they weren’t out of the memory, they couldn’t really see anything. Just a blur of voices in the background. And then, the shadow’s voice above it.

"I was terrified of your reactions.” His voice sounded close, and while it was quiet, it was the only words they could discern. They could tell he didn’t want to see more of those days. It was the first time they’ve seen a shadow flat out refusing to see its own memories.

Akira had been so lonely on those days he couldn’t make himself even watch it again. 

He kept talking even so. “I doubted myself so much. Who was I to take all of that happiness, all of that wonderful things? Was I making the right choice? Every single one of the people I cared about were happy. Why couldn't I just quit?" 

His voice trembled, and they wanted to reach out, but the darkness was dense and alive. They couldn’t even move. 

"I couldn't understand why. Why was I the only one of us left behind.” His voice cracked, and his loneliness ached on their own bones. “I was grateful, of course, after... we reunited, and I could anchor my heart on your certainty. But I wondered why... why even a theoretically perfect reality didn't feature my parents calling me. Didn't I want them to? Didn't I want them to want me? To love me? Or had I given up on that already?” His heart was crumbling, and he still had tortured pieces of it even in that condition. It was easier to see how that destroyed him. It was easier to see how he simply hadn’t had any other choice. He kept talking, and his grief felt thick on their throats.

“Why did every one of my friends feel distant and better off without me? Why did I have to live again the feeling of being abandoned by Mona? Why did I have to watch you walk away from me, surrounded by people who abandoned and hurt you in another world? By people who betrayed you? One that just gave them the opportunity. Because I knew they hadn't changed. They just didn't have the chance to show their true colours.” Ryuji, Yusuke, Haru, they were around the worst people, they weren’t safe.

Ryuji felt someone standing close to him, and somehow, he knew the shadow was looking at him.

"There was never… a day since I arrived here in which you haven’t been my friend.” Akira’s voice was small, but he still sounded lost. “In which I couldn’t count on you. But on that day, I watched you leaving without even looking back at me. I stood there for a long time. For once, Morgana wasn't there to say anything about it.” The odd focus was gone, and the blond knew his best friend enough to know he had looked away. “I wanted to cry," came the small confession.

"Why had I lost you waiting for me after school, why wouldn't you send me a message about going out somewhere?” Since day one, Ryuji had been there, even before Mona, and to go back to not having that was… It felt a little like a prelude to what Akira’s life was bound to be once he went back home. His life was sinking, and there was no bottom to that pit. “Not only I didn't get what I really wanted, which was dating you, but I actually managed to get a worse reality." He laughed bitterly. 

And then, there was a sigh, and the heavy feeling of defeat hung on their shoulders. The shadow stepped back, and there was light again as they were allowed to see his memory again. 

The next day found Akira staring up at Maruki’s palace. Everything about him was muted and bleak. Akechi and Kasumi were there, but it wasn’t the same. Akechi commented on how his friends had abandoned him, and Akira’s face was perfectly blank to hide his hurt. The detective was smart, and he knew where to hit to make the most damage. Even his toned down version was the same. Akira still wasn’t sure if he was even what real Akechi would be. Or if that Akechi by his side was Okumura all over again. If the comment was even that hurtful or if Akira was just being too sensitive about it all. 

Kasumi smiled at him, and it was nice that she decided to go with them, but she hadn’t fought by his side when he stood in the end of the world and realised he was powerless and his task was impossible. He hadn’t walked with her whole palaces, and it was still new having her in the team. It wasn’t a bad new, just different, and he felt dislocated and off balance. Sometimes Akechi would hint at just killing everyone, and she would look at him with trepidation, and Akira didn’t know how to manage that team. It was more than stressful. 

And Akira wasn't already that big on trust, and having Akechi waving around a gun by his side was a little less reassuring than having Makoto’s steady presence, or Ann’s support, or Ryuji’s solid attacks. Akira was honestly fairly sure Akechi wouldn’t betray him, it made sense for the detective to be on their side, and even if he didn’t feel guilty and he just wanted to stop being a puppet, he was still committed to the new task. 

But Akira had also been absolutely sure before that Akechi might have different opinions about the thieves, but he was good, and he just wanted to help people, and Akira thought they were friends, and then he was almost shot to death. So, Akira’s judgement was not that good, and he was risking Kasumi’s life as well, and he felt awful. It might have been easier if he hadn’t taken the time to hang out with the detective, if he hadn’t honestly tried to be friends. 

If, when he was in that police station, almost passing out from the pain, and when the door opened and he looked at someone who he tried to befriend all year, he hadn’t felt a little bit of hope. 

Wondered, just for a little second, if maybe he had been able to make the detective think again, like he had made Sae throw her ambitions away and stand by what was right. Because he had listened to his childhood trauma, like he had listened to Yusuke’s, and Ryuji’s, and Futaba’s, he had listened to him like he did for Takemi, a young talent who had her reputation and life destroyed by an old man in power. He listened, like he did to Chihaya, because he didn’t think anyone could be tied down by fate, and he didn’t think the detective only had the choice of killing him. 

So he had thought, for the tiniest moment, that Akechi might not really pull that trigger. 

But Akechi had been right, Akira was an absolute idiot, and it was a wonder he made it this far being that stupid. Akechi was far more committed, he had his own goals and he strove after them with little care for anything else and that was his strongest suit. He came back to finish the job, and Akira had offered him another chance, and he didn’t want it, and then he began talking about how he didn’t want to be seen disgraced, and how wonderful Akira life would be when he was hailed as a hero. 

He had wondered, for a while, if Akechi had saved them because it was the right thing to do, but it sounded self satisfying, and not like the detective at all. It was probably a lot more complex, and a lot less what he wanted it to be. Akechi had changed sides when he realised Shido already knew of his plans, and when he didn’t want to go back and be mocked by the public. He didn’t want their help, because he was very proud, and Akira could understand that. Akechi knew he couldn’t have the public’s approval, that he wouldn’t have his revenge, but he could have the thieves’ approval, because they were the last people on Earth who knew everything and were nuts enough to offer another chance. 

But then again, just approval wouldn’t do it, everything about his personas and his weapons were about an unfathomable hero. It wasn’t so much about justice than it was about being the hero. He wanted that, the being better than everyone else, the being recognized as such. It was pride, and it was pride that made him unable to accept Maruki’s reality, because he didn’t want to be a puppet again, and he didn’t particularly care if he died. What was the worth of living if he was to live in disgrace? 

And Akira wasn’t mad because of that logic, he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be mad, because what if he didn’t understand things correctly, what if Akechi had been right all along and revenge was something necessary, and if people were already going to die someday anyway, was it so bad that he decided to kill them earlier? Akechi was what everyone thought was the better person. Everyone hated the thieves, and loved the detective. It wasn’t just because Akira still had scars from his interrogation, just because he still jumped awake from another nightmare that ended with a gun firing on him, that he got to be such a baby about it. Maybe Maruki was right as well, and he was just stupid, and maybe his guards were good people who were just doing their jobs, and Akira had deserved being beaten up. 

He was already half convinced he had deserved being shot at, because, seriously, he had been such an idiot. 

He had been to the arcade with the detective and Akechi had waved a toy gun at him, and said he was getting warmed up to shoot him. It was hilarious how Akira had not taken the hint. So, no, he wasn’t really confident in his abilities to foresee where Akechi’s loyalties lay and he didn’t trust his own judgment at all. 

But then again, if that was the only problem, Akira wouldn’t be worried. He wouldn’t be upset about it if he wasn’t taking Kasumi right with them, and she was trusting him, she didn’t have experience, and he still let her come along, like the irresponsible leader he had always been. If he was wrong again about Akechi, that sweet girl would pay as well.

Akira knew the price, and he also knew he didn’t want any of his friends going through that. 

The strategies took longer to implement, because he had a method, and his usual options were out. He didn’t have Morgana to help him deal critical damages, and he didn’t have Yusuke’s buffs, nor Haru’s barriers. He also had to take into account all the elements they were lacking, since between Sumire and Akechi they pretty much only dealt bless and curses. Almight damages were good and all that, but they didn’t hit weakness and Akira needed to down Personas long enough to talk them into joining him, and he never realised how taxing it was to have to do it all alone. 

He was also confused, and he felt lost in that new reality, he missed his friends, and he didn’t know if he was allowed to have those feelings. Maruki’s words had a way into making him feel like he was the one in the wrong, like he shouldn’t feel what he was feeling. Because his therapist was telling him he was being selfish and not considering his friends' happiness. Everyone's happiness, in fact. Akira was this lost soul who just didn't _understand,_ and he had to be treated out of his way of thinking. Maruki’s palace was also unnervingly devoid of life, sterile like a hospital, the shadows blending into the maddengly white walls. 

The trio found Maruki, and Akira was informed, in a very condescending tone, that Yoshizawa Kasumi was dead, and that he had never even known the real name of the girl by his side. The girl by his side was just the younger twin, the lesser talent, the less remarkable, and her brilliant sister had died to protect her, and… And the girl, Sumire, had the misfortune of going to Maruki, and she confessed her guilty, she confessed to him how it would have been so much better if her sister was alive in her place, and… Maruki made her believe she was her sister. Maruki acquired a strange kind of power that could just… alter reality to reflect what he thought it was the best. And he just… let that confused teenage girl take that way out, he made her trade places with her dead sister and forget her own personality, and it was messed up, it was so messed up, Akira could barely wrap his head around it. Sumire was Maruki’s first case and first success, and he wouldn’t let go. 

Of course, Maruki was still all soft words and pleads. He offered them what he called ‘the perfect world’, he offered Sumire for her to be forever Kasumi. 

Akira refused, and Akechi did it too. Sumire...

When Sumire turned her back to them, Akira felt his heart closing off a little more. He was just adjusting to fighting by her side, to having her as a friend, but she still walked away and chose Maruki. The doctor had smiled at Akira, he could sense his despair, and the words that came out of those lips were covered in honey and platitudes. 

He made Sumire’s persona go berserk, and Akira was fighting a friend.

The shadow huffed a bitter laugh, startling them out of the fight.

“I had lost all hope again.” He half smiled, not even flinching at the loud noises from the fight. “It was Kamoshida all over again. I said no to the deal just because. I didn't have a good enough reason.” He looked away. “Even Akechi was more put together than I was. He refused to be a pawn again. Me? I was just saying no, because I'm an insufferable bastard and I don't know how to fucking quit.” He scoffed, running a hand through his own hair, gripping the strands. “I was just scared. After... Sae, and Yaldabaoth. I learned the right answer to deals is always no. It just... stuck to me I guess, that lesson.”

The shadow looked at Maruki, who was standing behind his student, making them fight amongst themselves.

“Right there, I was doubting myself again. If my choice had been a mistake.” 

His voice was soft, and his expression was even softer. He stared at his own struggling self, and he sighed. So much happened because he stepped up to people. 

Sumire staggered in front of them, but her persona was still flanked by two of Maruki’s shadows, and Akira was running out of… everything. Steam, breath, life, energy, he hurt all over. His team was just him and someone he didn’t even know if it was real, and that didn’t even matter because Sumire was charging up, and he could feel the sheer amount of power behind it. They were as good as dead. 

The thieves could hear his heart beating a bruise against his ribs, the blood rushing on his ears, and they felt that certainty that that was it, he had failed, and he was going to die. He was going to die, and his friends wouldn't even remember him in any way that mattered.

They knew it wasn’t what happened at all. Even so, when they heard it, the loud noise of rushing footsteps banging on metal, a mad dash, quick but paced, they held their breaths.

It was a blur of movement, but then something was rushing past Akira, and he could barely see past the insanely powerful thunder blast lighting up the room. But he knew those steps, he had run together with them. The blast struck, deadly powerful, but Akira was alive, and he needed a moment to understand why. He needed a lifetime to breathe, when he saw his best friend in front of him, shielding him with his own body like the reckless bastard he was, with a blinding smile on his face.

The shadow sighed by their side, and they looked at it.

“I asked myself if my choice had been a mistake, as I did back then, at Kamoshida’s Palace, when I finally found Arsene in my heart.” He looked at his best friend, something complicated crossing his features. “And, once fucking more, you pulled me right out of it. You stared at the problem and tried to punch it in the face, and just like that I could do it. I could stand up again.” 

The Ryuji in the memory grinned at his leader, arms still raised as he took the hit, but his smile was as sunny as ever as he apologized for the delay, and all of the other thieves poured into the room. 

For the first time, they saw Akira smiling, and just like that, he was back on his feet, ready to fight again and again.

The shadow huffed a laugh, and they looked back at him, forgoing the fight happening in front of them. They already knew what happened there, and hearing Akira’s words about it seemed more important.

“Fuck if I believe in fate, but at that second? I was sure there was one, a very wicked but wonderful one, which let us decide, one that let us change, but that gifted us with chances, with absurd parallels.” He looked up at Ryuji, a disbelieving look on his tired gaze. “Because, seriously, what were the chances? Why electricity? That was a fucking psych ward, why not a psychic attack? Why not bless, that was Sumire’s element? Curse maybe, for the poetry. But no. Electricity it was. And you could jump forward and shield me, like you did at the beginning of last year, which felt like a lifetime away. I'm sure you'd have done it even if the element was any other, but the fact that it was a bolt of electricity let you protect me and live. I heard you running towards us, way before the attack struck, way before anyone could know what kind of attack that was. You'd have taken that hit no matter what. You'd have tried to save me no matter what.”

Ryuji didn’t have anything to say for himself. He knew he would have. Shadow Akira gave him a small smile at his honesty, when he didn’t try to deny it. 

“You took the hit for me, and smiled to me, and just like that I could've taken the fucking world alone.” Grey eyes looked up, at the high ceiling of the palace, wonder in his tone. “I had been paralysed by your sudden appearance, by the fact that I wasn't being electrocuted to death, but you smiled at me and suddenly I could smile back.” He huffed, looking back at his best friend. “I was grinning like a maniac and I didn't doubt a single thing anymore. And at the back of my mind I was wondering if that was what people meant when they said love was powerful. If that was what I was meant to be doing with that feeling in my chest: winning against all odds.” 

Shadow Akira kept a small, wistful smile. 

“I lived hundreds of lifetimes in that second you appeared right in front of me, and just when I was wondering about miracles, all of our team was rushing in.” His voice was warm for the first time, relieved, and he looked at them with such fondness they found themselves tearing up. He valued all of them so much, and while it was difficult to discern his feelings when he was sad, it was a little easy to see when he was happy. It was frightfully simple to disarm him with good things. 

They still remembered how he smiled at seeing them, and how his voice shook just a little as he said he knew they’d come around. 

The memory faded, and they tried to get used to the dim lights of the velvet room. The shadow sat on the cot again, staring at the floor. 

Haru spoke up. “Akira, I don’t think we’ve ever asked, but… What made you keep refusing Maruki’s offer? We told you our reasons, but… I don’t think we have ever asked yours.” 

The shadow didn’t answer for a long time. When it spoke up, he had this thoughtful gaze, one knee propped up, resting his chin on it.

“At first, I didn’t understand at all what was happening, and why the perfect world didn’t have anything in it for me. Was it because I never told him about myself that much? He knew about my record because, at that point, who didn't know it at that God forsaken school?” He scowled, putting his leg down and gripping the sides of the metal cot. “And that did go away. As well as my rearrest, but I guess it isn't that much of a stretch to think I wouldn't want to go to juvie. And for that to happen, Akechi reappearing would make the most sense. He could have the testimony they needed, and he was a murderer, so he should be arrested anyway. He would atone for what he did, get back to the shitty adult who manipulated him and I'd be free." Akira paused, looking away for a moment.

"Sojiro had been more open with his concern for me, and that was nice. But there wasn't really anything else. I wondered if that was because I hadn't told him what he needed to manipulate me and trap me into the reality he thought was ideal." 

He had heard in his dream all of what his friends told the school therapist, and, coincidentally, all of the worries they told the doctor went away in the new reality. Akira himself didn’t say much, mostly what everyone already knew. His arrest, his record, him settling up in Tokyo. 

"What I am trying to say is that... I trusted him with very few facts about me, with just the tiniest glimpse into my emotions, and that almost came back to get me.” He looked up at them. “I almost lost everything dear to me because of trying to trust him. He... actively approached us because he knew we would be useful for his research. He knew we were the Phantom Thieves. All the fucking time, he… knew it. He was using us to complete his research.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper. 

“It was... all of his questions were to lead us on, to make us answer what he needed to know for his research.” He sounded angry and resentful. “We were lied to, and used. He took advantage of his position as school counselor, and approached us. He said he wanted everyone not to suffer anymore, but I think he was so full of shit.” His expression was thunderous, and his grip on the metal was leaving his fingers white. “I was falling apart in his new reality, and knowing he was doing that using what people entrusted him with... I felt sick to my stomach,” he almost spat out the words, but there was a vulnerability to them. 

“I, more than anyone, know how hard it is to talk about feelings. To entrust someone else with a weakness about yourself. And he used that to…” He had to pause when his voice cracked on him. “He used it to take away from people of the choice they should have. Healing must be a choice. All of us have been dealt a bad hand in life, but we choose healing. He wanted to take that away. He wanted to take away the only thing that makes the very existence of humanity make any sense." 

He got up, facing Joker, who was leaning against a wall. For the first time since they arrived, there was a mutual understanding between them. Joker, more than anyone knew what the shadow was trying to say.

"When facing the fake god... I summoned Satanael. He represents that. By being the other side, by being the evil to be chosen, he made goodness have a meaning. If you could only act like a good person, if you were forced to, that empties your actions. What is the meaning of kindness, if you couldn't just choose to be hurtful? If we rob people of a choice, there's no meaning to their actions. Free will defines humankind. Even us, as thieves, we always talked to shadows. We made them think, and they decided to change. That mementos request about the brother who hated his sister? He kept hating her, even if he loved her. We didn't make it a perfect reality in which we'd erased his true feelings and replaced them with our perception of perfect feelings. We talked to him, and made him be truthful to himself. He chose to live with her, and that choice only meant anything because it was an actual choice." 

Shadow Akira let out a shaky sigh, running a hand on his curls. 

“And… His whole reasoning behind his project? He was whining because a professor rejected his research, and then he became obsessed with it. And then, his girlfriend lived through a traumatic experience, stopped talking and when she was having an episode she said she hated those memories and… He just decided to use his powers to make her forget everything? And then he went on acting like a goddamned martyr because she didn’t remember him anymore?” He scoffed, humourless. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. He could've just granted his girlfriend's wish, and go on with life. Even _that_ would be pretty shitty, because he took the words of someone in a pretty bad place and changed their entire life. She might not have wanted her memories gone if she knew she was going to lose him, and it was a very fucked up thing to rob her of her opinion on their relationship. He was overbearing and patronizing, like she was his kid and he could decide everything without telling her nothing." 

His breathing was elevated, upset that he was with everything. He had very strong feelings about the matter.

"But. Fine. Let's pretend she really wanted that,” he continued, angrily. “He could've offered it to his other patients. Explained all the risks, not manipulating their decision to agree with his vision of perfection when they are mentally fragile like he did with Sumire. He could've told them how things would go. Explain that they could heal, how his power worked, what the deal was.” He took a deep breath. 

“It would still be morally debatable? Yes. It's like euthanasia. Ok, this person might get healed someday. They could have bloomed and met their true call on the very next day. Or they could have remained sick and miserable. No one can predict the future. But you offer them the option. Explain everything, but let the person make the decision. People argue if _family_ should be able to agree to euthanasia of someone vegetating. Imagine if that decision fell in the hands of a complete stranger? A school councilor who heard a few words from you in the passing and decided he could take over your life?” His voice shook, distraught. 

“Because that's what he did. He didn't let people make an informed decision. He could've asked, offered. It would still be debatable, yes. But it wouldn't be this bad. He took a few words that patients he didn’t have for even _a year_ and decided he knew best?” He scoffed, plopping down on the cot again, hands clasped in front of him. “In the end, I doubt he really wanted to help. He wanted to run away and play God. Get back at the professor who mocked him. Feel better about himself. Feel like he got something back for being the martyr and letting his girlfriend go."

His expression was bitter, but guilty, oh so guilty. Something uncertain and afraid as he looked at his own hands. 

"This whole deal was absolutely horrific. It felt like betrayal, and I was... by that time, I was numb to it already, I guess. When he revealed himself, told us how he approached us with second intentions, of how he used what we told him to entrap us... I was just 'Oh. This again, huh?' I've been betrayed by Igor, who I thought was trying to help me grow, but was just my biggest enemy in disguise. By Akechi, who I even tried to befriend, to invite him to our team even knowing what he was plotting, to fucking work together with after he tried to put a bullet in my head. By Maruki then, who I thought of as someone who could be a somewhat okay adult. To whom I said a little something about myself, because even if I have trust issues and I am quite a bit paranoid, I implicitly trusted him as a professional. Therapy was supposed to help, and I wanted to be helped." 

It hurt to hear that, because it meant he tried, he tried getting help, and then it blew up in his face again. 

“I trusted him. H-how could I? Have I learned _nothing_?" He sounded crushed, desperate in a way he hadn’t been even when he was being interrogated. His voice trembled, but he was in a roll, and he continued.

"Honestly? I was scared all of you would betray me too, stay with Maruki's reality and leave me. I was frantic, couldn't do or think about anything as I ran around after all of us, and then waited for you to either catch up or forget me entirely." 

He rubbed a hand over his own face, then over his hair, pulling at the strands slightly. 

"And his palace was just the worst. We were in a therapist's heart, and we got confirmation that even in therapy there was a correct answer.” His half smile was bitter, before his anger simmered down, and he confessed in a small voice, “That... fucked me up."

The shadow looked down, mouth clamped shut. They knew Akira had some issues about talking about his feelings, and how he was always trying to answer what he thought people deemed acceptable, how he was always struggling about the whole concept of being allowed his own feelings. They didn’t understand why he was like that, but they knew it was true. His expression did something complicated, but he spoke up again.

"That was so on point, I wondered if... if that last palace was just to spite me. If it was the last fuck you from Yaldabaoth." His voice was void of emotion, as if he was just stating a fact. Something he didn’t know how to feel about. As if he wasn’t sure if he should feel sad, or angry, because it didn’t really matter in the end what he felt. What had mattered was taking reality back, fighting and changing things, he didn’t… had the time to wonder about his feelings on the matter. He just had that thought, on the back of his head, about how in all hell had Maruki managed to poke exactly where it would hurt him the most. 

"It spat on my trust issues, it made us try and guess what the right answer was in fucking therapy. It made us lie on and on about our feelings. If we weren't exactly what he wanted, if we didn't say exactly what he wanted us to, we were to be taken, beaten up and... put into place. L-like... like they tried to do to me in that damned interrogation room.” His voice was barely a whisper. “It made me doubt myself, and the people I care about. It isolated me, made me think if that was it, I was finally losing my mind." 

He fell silent at that, seemingly not knowing how to continue. Or not wanting to.

Joker spoke up.

“You have more memories to show.” It was a statement, but there was an accusing tone to it. 

“Is there something else?” Futaba asked, frowning. 

The shadow shuffled in place, fidgeting.

“Yes… After the final battle against Maruki.” He looked up at their expectant faces, and shook his head. “I can’t- The next one is a bit intense. I don’t think I can see it again without getting pulled into it.”

“You haven’t been watching it?” Makoto asked, surprised.

“I know my purpose here is viewing it over and over until I don’t feel anything about it anymore, but… Things are- I’m not-” he choked on his own words, distressed. “I’m not holding up as well, lately. I’m just avoiding thinking about it most days.” 

“You should do it.” Joker’s voice startled them.

“I don’t want to.” The shadow looked away from its twin. 

Joker marched towards the shadow, his fierce gaze burning as he looked down at the shadow, contempt in every word he spat.

“You’re a coward.” 

“You can call me names all day, I won’t do it,” the shadow sneered. “There’s no point.” Its voice sounded defeated, and Joker hated it with everything he had. He wouldn’t stand for that. There was steel in his eyes as he made his decision.

“I’ll make you do it.”

“What- no!”

The shadow was pushed by red gloved hands, and the darkness descended upon them while they heard the shadow whimper, but it was late, too lat-

The velvet room was gone, and when they looked down there was a sickening drop of hundreds of meters, the wind was howling and the sun was setting, there was just destruction everywhere, and-

They knew when that happened. 

When they finally defeated Maruki, and all of his reality started to crumble down, with all of them inside, they thought it was the end. They were going to die, because there just wasn’t any way out. But then, maybe because they wished upon a star or something, but then, Morgana did more than transform into a car, and they- they were flying. 

They would live. Somehow, they beat the odds again, they won, and they would-

The helicopter lurched to the side, and they almost crashed, and nothing made sense, what was happening? 

It had taken them a second to understand. To see what was happening. Maruki had… Maruki had threw a hook at them, and the helicopter almost tipped over. Akira was still hanging from his grappling hook.

They had screamed in fear for their leader, and because they knew him enough to know what would happen next. 

Akira knew it too. He knew what he had to do. It didn’t make it any easier, but he knew what he had to do, and he let go of his only way out. His friends could still escape. Akira let himself be dragged down to the sickenly narrow platform.

The metaverse was starting to crumble, and Maruki had lost, but still, he still pulled Akira down, and in his soft voice he confessed it.

"I've lost." He had, but still he tried pulling all of those kids to die there with him? _Why?_

"So... please. Help me kill every last one of my regrets." 

Maruki still treated him like that. Saying Akira was the only one who could help. Asking politely, instead of demanding, even if it was clear the doctor never intended to really give him a choice. How was that a choice, if he tried to keep all of the thieves from escaping, so they could die inside the crumbling metaverse? 

"Very well." Akira knew what Maruki was really asking for. The fight was already over. Nothing would change that outcome, and Maruki knew it. When he asked his teenage student for help, Akira knew what that was.

Maruki was frustrated, and he wanted to vent it using Akira. He was angry, and he wanted to hurt someone for his problems. 

Akira felt as his mask disappeared from his face. He watched it, numbly.

"The disappearance of my palace- of the entire metaverse- is drawing near." Maruki was still making that face, like he was the hurting little kid, like Akira was the culprit. In his soft voice, he continued, "seems like neither of us can summon our personas anymore."

Akira felt his stomach drop, cold dread spreading all over his chest. Without powers, that wasn't going to be fight, that- 

Maruki punched hard. Akira's head snapped to the side with the impact, his whole skull rattling with it. He took several steps back, trying to regain his balance, eyes watering at the dull pain in his bones. He clenched his teeth and held back the panic growing in his chest. The way the punch made his cheekbone hurt, his vision blur, his heart rate pick up. Just like that he was back in that interrogation room, being punched by adults twice his size, being yelled at for things that weren't his fault. Because again, he didn’t really think he had deserved this. 

_His teacher started a full out brawl with a kid, how's that fair?_

It wasn't his fucking fault, so why that seemingly sweet doctor wanted to beat him up? What good would that do? Akira wasn't the one to turn away the counselor’s girlfriend, he wasn't the one to turn down his research. He was just a boy trying to take back his life, and his friends, and he was going to jail the minute that ended, wasn't it enough? 

He tried punching back, but he wasn't trained in martial arts as Makoto, and his punch was obviously weaker. If that went on, Maruki would be able to kill him with his bare hands. Akira didn't really stand a chance without any weapons or his Personas. He had trained this year, gone to the gym and all of that, but he just wasn't born bulky, and he had just started working out anyway. His body was weaker, smaller, still in development anyway, and seizing up in fear at being, once again, on the other end of an adult's frustration and anger. 

His teacher took a violent impulse, and Akira stood his ground with trembling hands and clenched teeth. The right hook came and Akira could swear it shattered his jawbone. Sharp, horrible pain, and he knew how that bruise would look like, he had received one of those by the hands of the police before. 

He had known what being beaten to an inch of his life meant, and he was about to taste it again. His fucking therapist was making him live that nightmare again, punching him just to feel better. 

_Why?_ Maruki had lost already, he himself admitted to that, admitted he just wanted to vent his frustrations. But how punching your student was supposed to help with that? 

He was no better than Kamoshida, beating up his students because he was angry. He was no better than Ryuji’s father, beating up his son because he was frustrated. 

No, Maruki was a good person, he was just… just desperate. He wouldn’t be like this if he hadn’t been pushed. If they let him be, he wouldn’t have lashed out.

 _You only truly know someone when they’re cornered, pressed against a wall. When every pretense falls, you will see the true nature of anyone._ His mind whispered at him. _You never lashed out when you were hurt, you never betrayed anyone. When you were backed against a wall, you didn’t run away, you didn’t betray, you summoned Arsene and protected someone, because that’s who you are. When you back_ him _against a wall, you get this: someone who will hurt if he’s hurting, someone who thinks it’s their right to hit a kid._

But if Akira believed that, he would have to believe Maruki was never worthy of his trust, and he was just a complete idiot who trusted the wrong adult again. 

Akira wanted to burst crying, at how unfair that whole thing was, he wanted to scream at his teacher, at that adult he tried to trust and was paid back with a sickening betrayal of his trust, and violence. He wanted to hide, he wanted to never again be beaten up like that, to feel this helpless and alone. 

He pushed it all down, repressed the hell out of the panic attack he could feel building, and tried to bury his feelings so far from the surface so he wouldn't have ever had to see them again. Feelings had never ever done anything good to him anyway. If he could give up on them entirely, he would. 

He weakly punched back, out of despair, knuckles hurting with the impact, his whole stance all wrong, but pushed back anyway, because what else was left for him to do? He knew his punches weren't even hurting much anymore, but what else could he do? The metaverse was crumbling, he never fought in real life, and he was probably going to die because Maruki had been selfish enough to make him go down with him out of spite. And Akira had to make that choice, he had to go back down and be the punching bag for a grown man, because he had to protect his friends. 

And he was kind of glad he was the one who stayed behind, because if any one of them deserved that beating, it was him. He should have been better at this, he should have been better to his friends, he let them get into that fucking mess, he let Ryuji be slapped by all of the girls, he was in the wrong anyway, and if a therapist thought he should get fucking punched, maybe he deserved it. 

Maybe he should convince Ryuji to beat him up, to make things even, it might work, it might be the right thing to offer, Akira just had to stop being _weak_ about it-

The next punch came, connecting hard to his temple, and he was disoriented by it, his brain being thrown against his own skull and leaving him dizzy and confused. He staggered, eyes briefly looking at the free fall beneath them, the wind howling, threatening to pull him all the way down to the ground, hundreds of meters under him. He knew he couldn’t keep up with this. 

Before they knew what was happening, Maruki was falling to his death.

_No._

Akira reached out before his mind could catch up with his body, and suddenly there was pain at his side as he threw himself on the ground and tried to hoist up his teacher. He clenched his teeth, one eye involuntarily closing at the strain in his arm. It felt like it was on fire, his arm almost sliding out of its socket with the impossible weight trying to pull him down. He couldn’t do it. He would do it, anyway, because it had never mattered what he _could_ do, life had never cared for his limits, and why the fuck should he care, it was just bones and flesh and he was going to do it.

He tried to pull that insanely heavy dead weight up, but his body just couldn’t take that strain. Maruki was bigger, heavier, stronger physically, as Akira had personally attested to by being punched by him repeatedly. 

But he was damned if he was giving up. Fuck it if his body couldn’t do it, Akira wasn’t giving up, he wasn’t bowing even to his body’s limits. He had no idea how he was going to do it, but he sure as hell wasn’t giving up.

He wouldn't let this man have the easy way out. He wouldn't let him try to pull that martyr card. Akira wholeheartedly disagreed with him and his twisted view of how people should live their lives, and he hated how he tried to control them, he hated everything that man made him see in the past month, but he wasn’t letting him die. Maruki might have something good in him, he could care probably, even if how he cared for Akira’s problems fucked said boy up, and he wouldn’t be able to ever again trust a therapist in his life, but whatever happened, Akira wasn’t a murderer, not even by omission. Maruki could do some good to the world, if he stopped trying to manipulate people maybe, if he just used his wish for people’s happiness in a healthy and consensual way, or maybe he would fail spectacularly and he would wail and hate everything, and Akira would make him live to see through it. He would crawl back to life, and keep doing it, because if Akira was going to have to live through hell, that person certainly would have to as well. 

His friends came back for him, because of course they did. 

The metaverse crumbled, and everything went dark. 

Akira woke up to the burning on his lungs, to a full blown panic attack seizing his whole body. He collapsed on the floor of his tiny solitary cell with a muffled sob, to the reality he fought for. 

There was no one here for him, nothing but the clear memory of the last beating he got, of every impression it left on his skin, and he couldn't breathe. 

He desperately wished for his friends. 

His chest constricted, and he clutched his shirt, trying to sooth the pain, but it was too much, and he couldn't center himself past the roaring in his ears. He could still feel the punches, and the dyscontrol of his teacher, and it was all blurring together with other feelings, with being kicked, and cuffed, and punched, yelled at, and he couldn't stop it. He curled up on the floor, hiding his face with trembling arms, instinctively trying to be a smaller target, sobbing.

There was nothing to it, but let it run its course. He wished he knew what to do, something to make it go away faster, but he couldn't remember anything. At least, he was alone, and there was no one to pretend for, no one he had to be strong for, and he let go. 

He choked on his tears, and the pain on his throat felt like someone strangling him. He usually didn't cry like that. His fear felt raw and recent, his whole body shook like a trapped animal. He felt helpless and threatened, terrified and desolated. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

He dissociated hard halfway through it, the sounds muffled, the whole room felt like they had been submerged underwater, their own lungs hurt. 

Their hands couldn’t touch Akira. That room was a solitary cell. Akira knew no one could ever visit him there. They had to stand there, hearing the painful sounds of Akira trying to breathe, to the wet sobs that racked his body, feeling the crushing despair settling on his bones. 

There was no one to pick up the pieces of what was left of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, that was a bit dark. But never fear, we will have a happy ending!
> 
> Well, first of all, yay, the thieves still having affinity to their elements!
> 
> Okay, on a more serious note, one of the main things about 3rd semester Akira is that we have lots of moments in which we can know some of his thoughts. When Sae takes Akechi into custody, he thinks to himself that maybe that’s how things were supposed to happen. Which is an odd thought, like he was already feeling something off about the new reality. Technically, Maruki gained his powers exactly when Yaldabaoth went down, as we can kinda tell how in the same night Futaba pulls off a lucky slot and ends up managing to buy everything she wanted from the store for their Christmas dinner. One interesting thing I took into consideration is that even if you DON’T complete Akechi’s social link, he still gets arrested, and the 3rd semester happens anyway. You just have to complete Maruki’s confidant link. So, it means that even if Akira didn’t know shit about Akechi’s childhood or anything, he would still want for the same thing: him being arrested and paying for what he did, and Akira not having to be unfairly arrested just so the prosecutors could save face. So, it means that, at that point, Akira probably wasn’t considering Akechi’s feelings of anything, he just wanted justice, and he wanted to go home. Which I think it’s reasonable, to have a moment of him thinking about himself for once, and not going to some scary place he never deserved. Considering this thing about the social link, I wrote Akira's feelings on that instance accordingly.
> 
> Again, about the Akechi being there thing. Maruki says Akechi was only there because Akira wanted it, but, again, according to the Persona wiki (and the playing of the game ofc), it’s heavily implied that Maruki was lying. He lied because he wanted to avoid the fight, and he knew Akira didn’t want to kill anyone, so he tried to put Akechi’s death on him (emotional manipulation as its finest). Which means that, while it’s not like Akira wanted Akechi’s death on his hands, Akechi wasn’t there because Akira wished for it. Which makes a lot of sense, considering Akechi still shows up even if you never complete his social link, or if you chose just to forget about him. (The only difference is that if you chose to forget about Akechi, he doesn’t show up when Maruki goes to Leblanc, and he doesn’t talk to Akira on that night). 
> 
> So, Akechi showing up depends entirely on Maruki’s will, and his research being complete. Even if Akechi was a total stranger he’d go to jail on that night, so we can tell that he wasn’t there bc Akira wanted. And, we can also tell that Akira believes Akechi should go to jail for what he did, despite all of his reasons for doing it. Which also makes a lot of sense, Akira is big on the justice thing, and Akechi did kill people for Shido. 
> 
> About the new team, Akira is risking Sumire’s life as well, he’s still the leader, so him deciding to trust a murderer is a matter of significance, and Akira also tries very hard to protect people. I like to think his feelings on the matter are quite complex, and, at that point he is still figuring it out. (More explanation about that aspect of Akira’s personality on the next chapter, like why he’s so unsure about expressing and even having his own feelings, as well for the whole what is real or not matter). Anyway, Akira remains confused, and he really doesn’t do anything except trying to talk to the other thieves. We see him at bed thinking and thinking about what happened, and what can be true or not, so I think he’d have spent a lot of time trying to discern which part of what he’s living is just a piece of Maruki’s scheme, and what is real. I like to think that he would have a lot of conflicted feelings about Maruki’s words, and Akechi as well, as he had with Wakaba, and Okumura, like, how is it possible, is this person really here? Is everything really here? Or is it just the product of an evil genie? Is there a God? Descartes would be proud *laughs* Akira's feelings on Maruki are also quite turbulent at this point, bc of well, everything explained in chapter about Akira's beliefs, and his particular set of trauma.
> 
> Fun fact about the brawl with Maruki! No matter how much you train at the gym, the game still considers Akira a beanpole and Maruki’s punches waay harder. If we kept at it, Akira would be a goner. Oof, bad way to die. Also, Maruki does admit that the real fight was over, and he just wanted to relieve his frustrations (?) and wanted Akira to accompany him (aka, being a punching bag. oof)
> 
> Also, in the thieves’ den, Morgana admits he knew he was going to die if Yaldabaoth went down. 
> 
> Again, thank you so so much to everyone who read this and left a comment!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dears, sorry for the delay! What happened was that the next chapter ended up being exactly thrice the length of a normal chapter, and I took thrice the time to write and edit it kalsjdas I was going to post all the 21k words of it, but thought it over and decided to split it in two. I'll be posting the first part today (bc I made you wait too long, and since there will be a double update, you should have the more time possible to read it i guess), then answering your beautiful comments because they're so insightful and wonderful and gave me strength to write! Then, I'll wait two days or something (so I'll know most people caught up. It'd be really sad if, because of the double update, someone ended up skipping one chapter)
> 
> We’ll be delving deeper into Akira’s parents' issue on the next chapter, and I think things will be even clearer. Heads up, it will be longer than this one, I just couldn't cut the text in any other point. I wanted to deliver it in one go, but it got stupidly long, and I wouldn’t be able to explain what had to be explained in the notes…
> 
> Again, thank you so much for everyone reading, and commenting, and leaving kudos! It really makes a difference!

There was a muffled sound of someone crying, and they were vaguely aware of being alone and terrified, but they couldn’t _see_. Joker was yelling at the shadow, but the shadow didn’t budge, and the rest of the memory of Akira’s months in jail was kept hidden. 

Suddenly, light flooded the room, and they were standing in front of a taxi, staring at the van Makoto had rented to send Akira off. 

Akira looked to the side, noticing the black sedans tailing them. His expression was unreadable, but being in his heart was enough to know how torn he had felt. 

He was terrified of going back home, and for a tiny precious moment, he had been led to believe he could have had his friends’ company for a little while more. 

But they were being followed, and Maruki, of all people, had parked his taxi in front of him and opened the door. 

Akira’s shoulders dropped a little, because even after everything, he still didn’t learn his lesson, and he kept believing he could have things he really couldn’t. He smiled at his friends, because he was good at that, at reassuring them. He didn’t have a choice, really, so he got into the car, and tried not to regret his own decision. 

He sat on the backseat with a polite smile, trying not to appear as anxious as he felt. 

He was scared of that man, instinctively. His body knew how it felt to be punched by those hands, to wonder if he was going to die like that. He didn't want to see him ever again. He hated being in such close quarters with someone he knew that could get violent. 

That meek exterior was just a facade of someone with a huge ego, and a selfish kind of violence buried down inside. Akira couldn't trust this person. He wished he was with his friends. He wished someone had made the connection, of him being beaten up like that and maybe not wanting to be locked up in a car with the person who punched him repeatedly. He wished someone had looked close enough, and spared him of that. 

But no one had, and if he brought it up things would get awkward. It was safer, apparently, doing things this way, even if that meant accepting a ride from an adult who seemingly relaxed by punching his face. 

Maybe because he was a boy, no one ever considered he might not be okay with violence. The same way people punched Ryuji, people easily assumed Akira was fine with being beaten up by the police, and then beaten up by his teacher. 

He felt instantly guilty. What if Maruki was a good person, and Akira was being touchy and selfish? His teacher had said he just wanted to help, but… But why couldn’t he fucking ask? How could he just take secrets people had and used it to build what _he_ thought was the perfect life? What if that one artist wanted to cling to his art, and suffer through it for a masterpiece? What would have happened to the world if everyone took the easy way out? If you couldn’t produce a public acclaimed painting right off the bat, all of your relationship with art, and everything you are, doesn't matter anymore? Being a genius and not having the public recognizing your job meant your work is trash? 

And why couldn’t Maruki just use his fucking degree? There were a whole lot of techniques used to help people with trauma, techniques that _worked_ and didn’t take away the choice from the patient. It helped people to take that step forward, and rediscover themselves, and build up from the ruins, and start something brave and new. Akira thought it was patronizing to conclude people would never start over, that they would never have the strength to face things and be better. He remembered Futaba, with a grief and guilt infused on her that she never deserved, but how she valiantly asked for her heart to be stolen. Even without their metaverse antics, she had taken that step. She asked for help, and she let herself be seen. She was a hardcore shut in, but she let all of them inside her room, people she didn’t know, and she talked to them, in a shaky little voice, but she talked to them, asked for help, wished fervently to change herself. 

And she kept improving. She kept going out of her comfort zone, _she made friends_ . Everyone said Akira made her have friends, but it wasn’t true. _She_ made an effort. When the other thieves reached out, she let them. She went shopping for swimsuits, she helped out at the cafe, she fought with Yusuke over her figure actions. She called Sojiro her father, and she made peace with her past. Even without all of their phantom thieves magic, she saved herself. She not only healed, but she became even better than who she was in the past. Akira felt sick just thinking how much effort she put into all of that, and how, when asked, she concluded she didn’t want illusions, she wanted who she became after the hell she went through, and Maruki had been this close to taking it from her without asking. 

Well, Maruki had asked him if he wanted that. But only because Akira could tell something was wrong. If he hadn’t noticed, he would be just as his friends, unknowingly discarding himself, and all the possibilities his own future had, for a piece of what Maruki would think a perfect life for him meant. 

But… he might have a right in being angry at Akira for destroying his pompous fake eden. And, maybe Akira deserved being beaten up, even after their fight held no meaning anymore, and Maruki was doing it just to satisfy himself. Maybe Akira just had a very punchable face. But, if that was true, did he deserve being beaten up by the police as well? Was it okay to punch people when you got upset?

His heart felt impossibly small in his chest, cold dread gripping his insides. What if it was? No one really seemed to resent Maruki. It’s not like Akira resented him, or that he wanted people to do it, but… Panic bubbled up his throat when he noticed how everyone loved Maruki, didn’t really seem to think he was nothing but a sweet and good willed human being. He was a doctor. A respectable adult. Someone who knew better. And here Akira was, uncomfortable with his violence, wary of the smile he knew could hide so many things. 

He didn’t know anymore. He wished he was back with his friends. He wished someone would tell him everything would be alright, and mean it. 

But he knew how wishing for things had never, ever, gotten him anywhere. His stunt was over. Whatever happened, if he had been right or no, if he deserved all of the pain he got, none of it really mattered. He got what he wanted. He reached his goal. He took the impossible odds and won. He had to be happy.

He smiled as he jumped off the cab, Morgana in tow. He smiled at Yoshizawa at the station, took a double take as someone passed by, and he was reminded of Akechi. But it was just a trick of light maybe, and he sat back and he smiled at the sky above him. Even if it was real, he realised he had nothing he wanted to do about it. 

Because if Akechi was alive, it necessarily meant that the Akechi who had been with them for Maruki’s palace had been a fake. Just wishful thinking, exactly what they all wanted him to be. Because that Akechi had assured them that destroying Maruki’s reality would send them back to the correct sequence of events, in which he was dead. He had said it. So, that version of Akechi who fought Maruki died when the metaverse crumbled. 

Which meant that, even if what he saw outside the train was somehow the detective, it was someone he didn’t really know. Because all of their friendship had been based in lies and half truths, when Akechi was still pretending to be the chivalrous and smart prince detective. When he was smiling and pretending he wasn’t going to shoot Akira on the face, pretending he wasn’t going to be thrilled about it. The only real moment was at Shido’s, when all pretences truly dropped. After that, there was this someone Maruki constructed, decepating parts of Akechi and choosing what suited him. It was unfair, because people came as a whole, and it was insulting disregarding what made them themselves, and trying to stay only with what was convenient. A copy of someone who was walking free out there, none the wiser about his fabricated twin.

But, if he considered that the Akechi they met in Maruki’s reality was the real one, and he hadn’t died… If he had somehow been really there, he would have known he wasn’t dead in the correct timeline and still let Akira believe he was responsible for someone’s death. Probably because by doing so, Akechi would be able to just drop off the Earth, disappear and avoid the humiliation of being found out as a farce. At the cost of Akira’s peace of mind, to let him dwell in that gnawing and all consuming guilt. Of knowing he had failed, and someone had died. Just so Akechi could save face. 

It sounded possible, but if that was true… Akira didn’t really want to go after him. That wasn’t a friendship he would miss. 

And if it was just a trick of light, there was nothing to do. Akechi was dead, as he had wanted, and nothing changed. Meaningless. Slightly disturbing, knowing Maruki had toyed with his memory, making people mourn a version of the detective that never existed in the first place. 

The whole situation was messed up beyond salvation. 

So, Akira just sat back and didn’t bother even getting up to see it better. He didn’t even entertain the idea of going outside and trying to check it out properly. He was finished with it. 

As Hifumi had said, he felt like a general, looking over the battlefield after his victory. He did something huge, he was grief stricken and wondered all of the what-ifs, and the future didn’t have anything in store for him, but who cared. It was over. He didn’t start any of this to be happy. He did it for his ideals, for the world to be better. He won because he couldn’t let the other side win, and it had to be enough.

They were wrenched out of the memory, doubling over in pain as the velvet room solidified itself around them and the shadow fell over, knees hitting the floor with a muffled sound.

Then it was hyperventilating, dry gasps that sounded painful and agonizing. Its chest was seizing up in his unfiltered panic, and a small sobbing echoed as breathing turned into agony. 

Ann grabbed Joker by his shoulders, shaking him as if she could physically make him snap out of it.

“Joker! Why would you do that?!” she shrieked, hands trembling as she tried not to look at the way Akira had huddled over to a corner and kept trying to breathe.

“We don’t have time,” Joker bit out, his voice tense. “You can’t keep coddling him.”

Futaba was still trying to talk the shadow out of its panic attack, all the while making everyone stop crowding it.

Ryuji looked to his leader, having clenched his hands hard enough to hurt, to stop himself from reaching his friend on the floor.

“Hell, Joker, would you have forced me to go through something that you know that triggers me that badly?”

Joker looked bewildered.

“Of course not,” he replied, softly. 

“How is this any different then?” the blond pleaded, and they could see grey eyes widening beneath a very familiar mask as Ryuji teared up. 

“Okay, I didn’t think that through,” Joker said, still taken aback by seeing tears on his best friend’s eyes. He wasn’t being mean to the shadow on purpose, he had panicked, because he knew they were behind the schedule, they had a deadline that he was responsible for reinforcing. He knew they might not make it at that rate and he panicked, but he wasn’t admitting that. The team was holding on by a very thin thread, and he couldn’t deliver that blow. 

Makoto spoke up, her voice quiet as it normally wouldn’t. She talked confidently, she talked fiercely when she saw something unfair. But now, her voice was quiet, like she was trying to talk to a wounded animal. Joker’s eyes narrowed. 

“Joker, you know post traumatic stress is real, right? You’re not being a coward.”

Joker was silent at that, looking away. 

“I think…” He stopped, thoughtful. “I mean, it’s not that different from torturing personas. You force them to go through something traumatic, and then they change.”

As if that wasn’t the whole reason they were in that catastrophic situation. 

“There are other ways to change.”

Their leader sighed.

“Okay, sorry.” He took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to center himself again. It seemed to take everything he had, and what he didn’t have too. 

Then he walked over to the shadow curled in a corner, which hadn’t calmed down at all, despite Futaba’s gentle coaxing.

Joker sat by the shadow’s side, pulling its head to lean on his shoulder. Surprisingly, the shadow leaned against him, turning so it could wrap thin arms around him and hid its face on the curve of his neck. 

That Akira resented Joker, resented that part of himself, but Joker still was his last support, and lonely Akira would take the comfort he offered. His rebellion could be many things, and it could be hell to live with it, but he still relied on it to soothe his feelings. 

His very confused feelings, even for his friends, that he hadn’t seen in months. 

Joker talked softly, like they had seen him doing to anxious shadows in countless palaces. 

“I’m sorry. But we need to do it. If there’s a chance of this helping, we should try.”

Akira was silent for a while, his breathing still painful sounding, rasps that sounded quite a bit like he was drowning. A red gloved hand steadily rubbed his back, drawing small circles in gentle cadences. Joker hugged tight, but Akira seemed to find consolation in that. The shadow closed its eyes and breathed until its chest wasn’t seizing anymore. 

Then, it sighed tiredly. It didn’t look particularly convinced, but Akira was horrible at giving up, even when he was trying. He didn’t look like he expected things to go well, but if there was still something left to try, he’d go for it even if it would end up crushing him in the end.

“No words about my time in jail, or I’m out.”

“Okay.” Joker took the offer quickly, a nervous energy around him. He didn’t have time. None of them understood how late help came, how close they were cutting it. 

The shadow sighed, sitting upright, but remaining close to his twin, glued from shoulder to their hands. Joker didn’t take the hand, but he didn’t pull away. Watching in silent support as the shadow took a deep breath and tried talking.

“He said he wanted us to be happy and whatever but he just wanted to run away. Said he'd always have my back, but, at the end, he used me to vent his frustrations. He decided he wanted a brawl with a kid. And I really didn't want to be punched by a grown man that soon after... after." He half smiled. 

“It doesn’t sound like a big deal, I know. It’s not because I saw him as… I don’t know, an adult I could trust. Someone who could honestly help me deal with all the stuff on my head. I don’t know why I fell for that, looking back on it.” He frowned, blinking a few times. “I think he was just the last straw.” He took a deep breath, letting go slowly. 

“Truth be told, I didn't really have a place to belong from the start. It was just easier to see it in the transfer student, the boy with a criminal record, the kid his guardian didn't care if they died on the streets.” He didn’t sound bitter, just thoughtful. As if it wasn’t a bad thing, or a good thing, just the way some things were. “It just happened that after I came back, I could finally see it. My father, my mother, my former friends. I got so used to it, to be the one in the wrong, to everyone telling me I was overreacting, it never really registered how bad things were. When I realised it, I noticed how that was how life had always been. What if it never got better?”

He folded his legs and rested his chin on his knees, deep in thought. 

“The thing about my parents is, everything is a lot more complicated than I had the capacity to understand when I was younger. When I hadn’t been around other older people, and knew what was the right thing to expect. It’s…”

He hesitated, and his voice was thick with emotion. 

“I don’t even know where to begin.” He huffed a small laugh, sad all over. Bitter. “From the start? But I don’t even know when things started to go wrong. Maybe they’ve been wrong all the time and I just didn’t notice before. Some things I might not even know they were wrong until someone points it out to me.”

He paused again.

“Maybe I should start from when I came back from Tokyo.” He sighed. “When I went to the final battle, I had with me powerful personas to fight with. I didn't bring Arsene. After that, the room was gone and I didn't know how to get him back. He said he'd never leave me, but how could I tell? I was left alone in a small city that hated me, and the strength of my heart was gone. I didn’t know how to bring it back." 

And it was just one more thing he lost, and he was trying so hard not to break under the weight of it all, he decided to just ignore it. He had lost Sojiro, he had lost his friends, he had lost whatever family he found there, he had lost even his chances at a decent future, if Sae was to be believed. The velvet room was gone, Lavenza wouldn’t take him there again, and she wouldn’t meet with him again. He had still been in jail when she had shown him the room one last time, and everything vanished before his eyes. It went away in specks of light, and Akira had stood there, knowing he would wake up in another cell, knowing he would go to sleep terrified, and he kept quiet while all magic left.

"When I was going back home, I was damn grateful for Morgana being with me. I thought it could be somehow a gift. For me for doing all that shit, saving humanity and their free will over and over. For all that heartbreak." Because there it was, the one friend life let him keep, the one companion who chose to follow him, the one good thing he was allowed to keep after everything he did.

“But not everyone is Sojiro.” He half smiled again. “My parents didn’t want a pet. They never did. Mother thinks they stink, and father finds them a hassle. I’ve always liked small animals, the only reason I never had any was because they wouldn’t let me. I don’t know why I thought they would accept this time.” Maybe he had gotten too used to Sojiro, and how the old man had listened. How he tried to understand, and how he still allowed himself to change his mind over things. “Maybe I never thought that, and just couldn’t make myself let go of Mona. I would be too alone, and I didn’t know what to do.” He bit his own lip. “I thought that maybe things would go differently now, because I had already shown I could take care of a pet alone, and Sojiro’s reasoning was a good argument: an irresponsible delinquent might learn something about responsibility if they took care of a living thing.”

“No such luck.” He smiled bitterly. It lasted a second more than he really thought he could keep it. Soon, his expression crumbled, and his voice was rough.

"I begged then. For them to please don't take Mona away from me. I was falling apart already, and I couldn't..." His chest heaved. It sounded painful those dry sobs, much more than it would be if he could just cry. But he didn’t have that luxury. There was no relief, no expression for his feelings. No tears to get him past the pain lodged in his chest. 

"Everyone wanted to walk away. Everyone had new goals, and our group was something of the past. I was... You all left me. And I'd die for all of you, but you wouldn't stay. I thought that maybe nothing made people stay. I... I had no one there.”

"I didn't know what to do. Hobbies, career choices. I had nothing. I was empty, and I hated it. Everyone was moving on. Everyone had needed me, but now they didn't.” He wasn’t looking at them, and he didn’t catch Joker’s silent plea to the group to just let the shadow continue. It did. “I think… the hardest part was that I wasn’t surprised, at all.”

Akira didn’t look up, and he didn’t see just how gutted his friends seemed. This shadow didn’t know where it stood with the former thieves, and it didn’t want to risk unnecessary heartbreak. Whatever would it do, if it got the confirmation that they didn’t miss him?

“I've always... somehow, I've always felt like I'd outlive my usefulness some day. Even when we had just started stealing hearts, and I was so sure of something, when I was comfortable in doing something I exceeded at... even then, I'd have this feeling that someday, it'd be over, and I'd have outlived my uses.” 

It finally made sense, that melancholic feeling he gave off. In a way, he'd always looked like that. Sometimes he'd smile softly and gently at them, sometimes full of mirth, sometimes just a little yearning affection. Other times, he'd have a killer grin, a cocky attitude and a spark in his eyes, clear as a flame, burning terrifyingly fast. 

But all the time it felt like he was going to leave. One way or another, he'd always give off the impression that he would die for something: for them, for their purpose. But it felt like he'd die and they'd never see the body, every last movement he made gave off the impression he could just vanish like a ghost. 

For all they knew, he could have disappeared in thin air like Mona had. He was too kind and too brave, dead set on making whatever tiny thing he could to make the world a little less terrible. He could have been some kind of gift, a breath of hope whatever benevolent God watching decided to give to the world. 

But he wasn't, he was really, really, just a boy, and a very lonely one at that. 

He measured himself in his usefulness, as if he didn’t quite get why people would choose to be around him if he didn’t deliver something.

“All of you assured me you'd be okay without me. And just like that, I didn't have anything to try hard for. I... all of the bad things I was bottling up were bigger than me. Bigger than my flailing strength." 

Akira looked down at Joker’s gloved hands, thoughtful. It felt so distant, those days when he had been able to proudly wear his rebellion on his sleeve, and save everyone.

"It started off small. I didn't want to go to school, because it was a hassle, and what I was even going to do with that, since no perfect grades could ever erase the fact that I had been arrested.” Sae had warned him about this, but he hadn’t been quite prepared for how his teachers had almost forgotten about his formulary for career choices. When he did turn that in, he was sat down and told just how basically everything was out of question for an ex convict, no matter the reason. The scorn, the gossip, the gleeful look on former friends seeing his downfall, that wasn’t that bad. It was just tiring. Repetitive. Pointless. “Then, I was getting tired. Nothing too much, just going to sleep early. I started sleeping ten hours a day. But it was fine, everyone oversleeps sometimes." He shrugged, looking briefly at the walls, taking in the vaguely disturbing patterns in which light distorted in that place.

"Then... I felt exhausted." He looked thoughtful.

"I started eating less. And less. No one noticed anyway.” It was hard to comprehend how, because the shadow was noticeably thin. Pale all over, dead on its feet. It actually seemed to get weaker by the second.

“Then I started feeling faint. I tried to eat sweets so my blood sugar would go up. But then, my blood pressure started to drop. I tried laying a few minutes with my legs up, and it helped. But right after I woke up, I felt faint, and couldn't muster the strength to move my legs up. I slept. I had homework, but I slept anyway. My grades would drop, probably, but I was just so tired." 

He had always felt a little off after executing too many personas, but he never paid attention to that. He was used to just not having Arsene with him, knowing he could have him back if he wished. He felt out of touch with his own heart in a way he didn’t before. 

"I fainted once or twice at home. Nothing serious. I got up. Rinse, repeat.” 

Life almost didn’t feel real, these days. 

“I was always good at being apathetic. At showing what was the safest for me, and that was a polite smile, and no words, most of the time. It was easy. Routine.” He took a very deep breath again. “And then, one day, I stared at the piece of chocolate Ryuji gave me and I wanted to scream. I wanted to beg for him to come and see me.” It had been like a dam breaking, and, suddenly, he was feeling so much. His eyes had wandered through all the small gifts he received in Tokyo, all the books he bought there, all the pictures they had taken, and everything showed him a life he could never have back. 

"I was a goddamned sentimental, and I was drowning in those memories. All of those gifts were moments, so, so precious, and I couldn't have it back.” His breathing crumbled, and it looked painful how his voice kept pushing past the lump on his throat. “I couldn't make new memories with the people I cared about. All I had was hatred and spite, and the fucking silence in my home. Sometimes, I had dread and fear, and I’d much rather take the silence,” he confessed, in a small voice. “I couldn't even live with Mona. He was living as a stray and it was my fault. But I couldn't send him away, because I couldn't let go of him. If I had to go on without even seeing Morgana everyday... I don't think I'd have made it this far. I was lonely and miserable." 

He ran trembling fingers through his own hair.

"For all the good intentions Maruki said he had, he fucked up my life so much. Even by the end, when he was probably trying to make amends by giving me a ride, that just messed me up even more. I didn't get to spend those precious minutes with you all. And I needed you. I wanted to just sit on the back of that van and laugh with you one last time." He had wondered how his life would have been, if he could have had that one last trip, an hour or two more of his friends around him. “But I didn’t have that, and by now it might be too late.”

They understood then, why this shadow didn’t mind telling them things, even if it trusted them less than previous ones. This Akira, abandoned in his hometown and dying, wanted to talk. It wanted someone to know.

“All of my friends in my hometown weren’t really friends. I thought they were, really. But… everything was a competition. No one really wanted the other to do well. Everything I said was… they would downplay it, say how much I just liked the attention. And, at the time, my parents had been really busy, and I just had them. It… shapes you, in a sense, when no one cares. Like, seriously, they laughed at me when I was telling them I got arrested.” He huffed a laugh at that, disbelieving. “Said how stupid I was, that I tried to play the hero, attention whore. They joked about how I’d end up in juvie anyway, just for the kicks. They teased me about it when I came back. Fomented the gossip, and the hatred. All people I had fucking invited to my home, and helped study. I don’t really know why. The whole year I was in Tokyo, I went around making deals, not friendships. I didn’t want to share anything with anyone, never. I tried sharing with my parents, and things didn’t work well.”

He bit down on his lower lip again.

“But, even if I didn’t tell you a lot about me, we were still close. I didn’t understand it very well. I think…” It was weird, but… he had felt so much better after telling Ryuji about his unfair arrest, back in the beginning of last year. He felt so hopeful when the blond had simply believed in him, even with all the rumors going around. It had felt life changing, trusting, and not regretting it. He never told them so many things, but, deep down, he wanted to, so much.

“You should tell them,” Joker spoke up. “About your parents. About what they do. And what they… don’t.” 

“I’ve never…” The shadow frowned, torn. “I’ve never admitted to it aloud.” He stared at the ceiling, conflicted.

“There was no one to listen before. This time is different.”

Akira resolutely didn’t answer. Joker pressed a little more.

“You know they’ve suffered too. They know how those things are. They might be able to help.” 

“I… what happened to me was different. It is different. It’s not that bad,” Akira weakly replied, brow furrowed. 

“They could help telling if it is that different. And… think about everything they know about us now. It won’t be this that will make them go away.” 

“You don’t know that.” The shadow gave him a half smile, resignedly. 

“Do you really wanna die with no one knowing the truth?”

Akira, Joker, their friend, he wasn’t one for sugarcoating anything. He knew what motivated every one of them, and he knew that, to himself, people knowing the truth was essential. He despised lies and excuses, and illusions. He would take an unforgiving truth over a honey coloured lie any day. He knew there was a chance of him dying, and if he did, no one would ever know the truth. 

The link with his body was the frailest thing by then, and if he didn’t say aloud what was eating him inside, it could snap. He knew he didn’t have time to talk, but he also knew that if he didn’t speak up now, it would be all for naught. 

It was a gamble. But Akira was used to gambling with his life, what was one little time more? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One important thing about Akechi’s supposed death: in P5, if, after his apparent death at Shido’s palace, Akira doesn’t steal Shido's heart in time, Akechi still shows up to arrest him, and it’s the end of line for Akira. There was a lot of discussion and most of the people assumed it was a bug, because Akechi had died, am I right? ‘hey, why is Akechi arresting them? He's good, he helped them at Shido’s! He died!”. But in P5R they kept that exact cutscene, not changing it despite the chance to ‘fix the bug’ and they alluded more clearly about Akechi living past Shido. 
> 
> Akira in this story would never have this disclosure, because he can only know what he chose to do, in the case of this story, the exact route for the true ending. But, in the sake of the truth, it's important to note that Akechi most likely got out of that alive, and, even after betraying Shido, he found a way to win his way back to a good enough position. In the game over case, he goes back to working with the police and arrests Akira. In the true ending case, we see him walking with some important looking people. He could have been threatened, if you just consider that scene. But, considering how even after he betrays Shido he still manages to smart his way up to the police again, it wouldn’t be beneath him to find a way to go even up on his career. Even more so if we consider that the men in black were after the thieves, and Akechi had a bit of a reputation of being good at catching them and of being able to solve any case. Shido could say something about Akechi, but we have to consider that he had a net of people who wanted him to just shut up. Akechi could perfectly gain his position back, if he played his cards correctly. Also, in the game over, he shows how even after all that mushy stuff at Shido's, he will chose the winning side, if asked. 
> 
> Also, in the thieves’ den, Ryuji jokingly says that Akechi's fans would be heartbroken if they knew he had been deceiveing them all along, akechi them smiles very self satisfied and says that if they were deceived it was their own fault for being stupid. Like, he doesn’t regret it. And there's an allure about that!
> 
> I don’t know why people dismiss those pieces of information. I think it sheds an interesting light over the characters. And, in the end, it’s that, isn’t it? The cool part is having interesting characters, not only pretty dolls with no backstory or personality to explore. Also, it kinda restricts the narrative, because everyone has to fit in that “noo they are actually good inside!”. Why can’t there be space for people to just be flawed and sometimes just to be petty and not feel sorry? I mean, you’re always welcomed to write whatever but I decided to consider that information bc it feels like a waste not exploiting that. 
> 
> Anyway, that being said, I also wanted to explore Maruki’s tactics. He went straight after every thief’s weakness, and the way he conducted himself around Akira always revolved around guilt and shame. He tried to convince the others thieves to give up fighting by appealing to their wishes, and their insecurities. Like Ryuji, if he didn’t want to be a good son for his mom, like Futaba if she didn’t wish for her mom to be alive, and so on. With Akira, though, he tries to get him to stop fighting by making him feel guilty, by manipulating him into thinking he was in the wrong for not accepting what Maruki wanted to do. Maruki kept talking softly, and looking oh so sad, and pleading with Akira for him to please don’t hate him, and oh he’s just trying to help, why is Akira being so cruel? He’d be like ‘look, your loved ones are happy, you want to take that away from them? Like Akira was being insensitive, because come on, ‘I gave up on my girlfriend! My professor scoffed at my thesis!’. 
> 
> Even in the very end, he didn’t own it up. He just punched Akira and turned up on his last day at Tokyo and offered him a ride, like he was this generous person who was forgiving Akira for ruining his dreams. It’s a very specific kind of emotional manipulation. If he just confronted Akira, he’d push back, like he did with all the other palace’s rulers. But how to really get into his head? Make him feel like he’s being selfish, and like his feelings were wrong. And that just makes so much sense, pairing with everything else in the story. Anyway! I think Maruki was a hell of a villain. Like, he isn’t the classical villain, but he uses emotional manipulation like he breathes, and people don’t even notice. He keeps a soft voice, and keeps telling everyone he’s incredibly nice, and selfless, and how he’s just trying to help, why can’t you understand? And when that doesn’t work, he goes for the bigger guns ‘why are you doing this to me, Akira?’ ‘please, don’t hate me’. ‘I’m always in your side’. It's a very refined kind of emotional manipulation, and it's very specific. Next chapter we'll be talking more about how that worked so well against Akira.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION!
> 
> This is the second update of this week! Are you sure you read the previous chapter? It'd be really sad if someone got confused because of the double update! Heads up, this chapter is LONG. Put your feet up, make yourself a nice beverage, and take your time. 
> 
> Woow, am I nervous about this chapter. So, this is kinda the peak about the explanations about why Akira ended up being like he is, and everything else was written taking this into consideration. 
> 
> TW because in this chapter we will be talking about Akira’s parents, and their relationship is pretty messed up. So, heads up for… unhealthy relationships? Adults acting in bad ways to kids? I don’t really know how to tag that, or explain, one of the main reasons I put the ‘author chose not to use archive warnings’, just in case something big slipped up just because I don’t know how to classify them. I guess it might be child abuse, or implied child abuse, so heads up. Also, there will be mentions of Shiho, and related stuff, so mentions of sexual abuse and suicide as well, no idealization though.

The shadow spoke up.

“My father changed, in the year I was away. There were always signs, but… I didn’t want to believe it.” He wasn’t looking at them. He kept his gaze on his hands on his lap. “Everything pointed to a truth I didn’t want to acknowledge.”

The more they knew, the more things started to make sense. Akira had been able to understand them. It was more than being a good listener, he seemed to inspire a specific type of people to talk to him, and he’d know what to say. But it seemed he knew what to say because he had been hurt in similar ways, to every last one of them. Yusuke knew how that was, having the truth on your face, and just refusing to believe it. He knew what it was to be raised to believe in someone, and refusing to acknowledge what should be obvious about them. 

Akira paused for a moment, trying to find the words. The other thieves sat on the floor as well at Joker’s slight nod with his head. That could take a while.

Akira didn’t look up, but he could sense he had their full attention. It was nerve wracking.

“It’s… What you have to understand about my parents is that it’s very complicated.” His voice shook, and he looked distressed in a way they hadn’t seen him look before. “If they had just not paid attention to me, and ignored me, I don’t think I’d be like this. Actively hiding my feelings, hiding when I’m hurt or sick, lying and pretending, trying to guess what people want to hear. Why would I bother, if my parents just ignored me and let me be?”

Akira was a good liar. Too good for someone who had started doing it recently. And he hated pretenses so much, it was just odd that he’d choose to lie. He was too ethical to be doing it without a reason. That spoke of years of lies, and of a situation in which tricking people into believing what they wanted to believe had kept Akira safe.

“I don’t know where to begin,” the shadow confessed. Akira could barely make sense of what was happening, and he sure as hell had no idea of how to explain it to someone in a way they could understand.

“My father just wants to know he has control. He doesn’t miss me. He likes his status, and his ego.” He started with a simple truth, something he only really realised a few weeks ago. “That’s why as long as I was away and he had something to say about my whereabouts, and as long as he thought I was under his thumb, he didn’t bother me at all. He just wants to be in control.” It was simple, really. It was weird, acknowledging that everything complicated that happened involving his father revolved around something so simple.

“And mother… Father told her he was the man of the house, and he knew better, I needed discipline, and not being babied. This is kinda the one thing I don’t really blame my mother for. He is very good at manipulating people.” He paused, apparently feeling guilty about badmouthing his parents. It was just different. He continued. “But I do blame her a bit, because she believes father can do whatever because he’s in charge. He’s the man. Anyway… When I came back… Mother was happy to see me. That’s kinda the difficult part. She was, and she wasn’t.”

He would have been a lot more sure about his feelings if everything was more clean cut. If his father just said he hated him or something. If they just didn’t care all the time.

“They were more than willing to send me away to someone they didn’t even know. But, in my mother’s case, that had to do with her career. I don’t know if I told you that, but she had to drop out when she had me. It’s still very common. Women have to choose between having kids and having a job.” It was common, but Akira hated it even so. He had always had a hard time accepting things the way they were. “She wasn’t pressured into it, she actually wanted to quit. She was very loving to me when I was a kid. I mean… children are different to deal with. They need strict rules, and answers set on stone. She played a lot with me. Made me start to love books. It’s…”

He took a deep breath, not knowing where he could go from there. He gave up on that line of thought, and tried explaining other things.

“She had a heart attack a few years ago.” Akira had felt so powerless at the time. He wished he could just do something to help, but he was just a kid, who knew nothing. Sometimes, looking back on it, he wondered if that was why he remained so stubborn about helping Takemi save that little girl. Even if it had been dangerous, even if he knew he was messing up his body with all of that medication, it felt good, being able to help save someone. It soothed a little that small regret that lingered on him for the past years. 

“I don’t know if I told you before, but my father is a doctor. He was quick to help, and he managed to pull her through it, even if her chances were really small. I think she feels indebted to my father, for saving her life, and she doesn’t want to see what’s happening.” He sounded torn. He felt like she was failing him, the doubt was ruining his heart. Did she know? Or was she just that unobservant? Or she just didn’t care? “It’s… he saved her life. I think she ended up worshipping him even more after that. I mean, I understand but… I wish I didn’t, sometimes.” Because… was there even anything that can justify looking away? 

“She’s busy, and… she’s very stubborn. She doesn’t want to acknowledge that my father is not the man she thinks he is. She wants our family to be okay, and she keeps pushing me to make what father wants. It doesn’t… excuses her actions. It’d be easier if she was… wrong all the time. I think that’s why it’s so hard for me to see her being in the wrong.”

She’d always say she was trying her best. And the complicated part was that she really seemed to be doing that. He didn’t know how to feel.

“Sometimes, she’ll say things about homossexuals, and about thugs, and about family, and… I don’t know. If I talk back, she’ll get upset, and nothing changes anyway, and I don’t really wanna make her upset. I just wanted things to change. And father upsets her a lot. He badmouths her to me, and he calls her stupid and inconvenient to her face. It’s demeaning. I don’t want to be like him, so it’s hard for me to keep confronting her, because I’ll lose my patience and I’ll be rude to her.”

Something curdled in his stomach at the very idea of raising his voice against someone to intimidate them. He didn’t want to be that person. He didn’t want to belittle anyone. But all of their arguments always ended the same way, he’d feel guilty for losing his cool, and nothing changed. He vowed to himself he’d keep himself under control, that he’d stay absolutely calm, no matter what. He couldn’t give into those aggressive feelings.

“But she also can’t accept me, and she won’t believe in me like I need her to do.” He knew, to some extent, that she wasn’t right. But she was better than his father, and that counted for something. 

“I tried telling them about my arrest,” he commented, a little offhandedly. “I still remember the words, even if the memory itself is gone.”

_‘It doesn’t matter why, Akira, I want you to apologize.”_

_“You shouldn’t be trying to play hero, I taught you better than this, you did it on your own accord for your own self satisfaction. You think it helped anything? It didn’t. You don’t know people and you ruined your life because of a stranger.”_

Akira didn’t want to repeat it aloud. It didn’t exactly hurt, but… It left a bad taste on his mouth, as if he was agreeing to it if he repeated the words. He let the sound ring out in the emptiness of his heart.

_“You won’t ever amount to anything. No. It doesn’t matter. You should have called the police.”_

_“They’re right. It’s his right to sue you for that, you acted out of hand. I don’t want your excuses, the reason doesn’t matter, what matters is what you did, and what you did was assaulting a man in the street.”_

_“You deserve this.”_

_“You’re lucky they’re letting you go with only probation.”_

_“If you don’t learn your lesson you’ll just go to jail for good and no one will care besides us. You have no one besides us, Akira. You can’t do this to us. We’re only trying to help you. You have no one else who would care if you got arrested. Where are your friends now?”_

Futaba felt a jolt of recognition. She knew how that felt. Her uncle had played that card on her, that he was the last person she had. That no one else cared, that she owed everything to him. Akira had taken her side, he had stepped up when she flinched. He had known how unfair it felt being accused of being ungrateful, when they were just… when they weren’t wrong, when the people who should be taking care of them were trying to keep them silent, so they wouldn’t tell what was wrong. So they wouldn’t have anyone else to turn to.

“That’s why Boss’ words didn’t really shock me much. I know that’s how adults think. There’s results, and nothing else. The whys don’t matter. Your intentions don’t, as well. Or you did what they wanted you to, or you didn’t.” He shrugged.

“Father was the same. He never cared for a reason. For anything I did. But he’d always ask, and I’d always answer, because I just didn’t understand that he just wanted to know so he could control me,” he admitted with a small huff. “He’d make a sad and tired face, and change the focus of the argument to him. It was always about him. When I got upset because he wasn’t listening to me, he’d say he was sorry, that he was horrible, and for me to please don’t hate him. But I didn’t want him to apologize, I wanted him to _listen_ to me, and acknowledge my feelings.” 

Even when Akira was being arrested, it was never about him. It was about how he made his father feel. And if Akira tried saying anything, his father would get defensive, and immediately say he was sorry, and Akira was forced to accept it, and his feelings never mattered. He was being too harsh, he was almost cruel with his own family, and he had to understand he didn’t have anyone else.

He had to just stop saying hurtful things. Even if those hurtful things weren’t really even hurtful, they were just Akira trying to explain himself. He was just telling them he couldn’t look away, it wasn’t right, but apparently that was selfish, and he didn’t stop to think about his parents at all. When he tried saying that he wasn’t doing that to spite them, that it just wasn’t fair, his father would be sad again, and say how he didn’t want Akira to hate him, even if that wasn’t the point at all.

It was like no matter what he said, he could never make his point get across.

Slowly, the pieces started to fall into place. How Akira never ever tried to explain himself, tell his own story, count his reasons, stop if he was in pain. It was drilled into him, his whole life, that all of that was just excuses. Things were easier to understand, the more they knew about him. It made sense. How repulsed Akira was of the idea of being controlled. How aversed he was to figures of authority. He had been like that to every person in power they met who had been abusing their power. He had already forgotten Shido’s face, but he kept his hatred for being controlled. A feeling too deep ingrained to be only a few weeks old.

It wasn’t just Shido. It was a life of being made to bow to people just to satisfy their ego. His indignation, his will to just push back and stand his ground, they were fierce, they had been repressed for years until they broke loose at Kamoshida’s palace. 

“I’ve never… I just couldn’t understand it, but I had always felt so trapped. If it wasn’t for the year I spent in Tokyo, I don’t think I’d have realised why. When Igor showed me this room, I… I was surprised to see how well that depicted what I felt. My heart had been like this for so long. I just didn’t understand, because I lived pretty much isolated in all the ways that count. When I recounted the story of my arrest to Ryuji, I was expecting the same reaction my parents had, that Sojiro had. To think someone else would care for why I did something was… I started to understand that there was a difference between asking because you care, and asking because you think the information can be useful.”

Haru’s heart ached for her friend. She knew how that was, being so disconnected from reality that she couldn’t even understand that some things her father did to her just weren’t okay. It was just after meeting the thieves, broadening her horizonts, that she started to understand how absurd some things she heard were.

Akira had understood her, before he even understood himself. It was easier to see from the outside. She should have known that it just wasn’t possible to be that good at understanding her circumstances if he didn’t somewhat know her situation intimately. 

“I started to see how every question my father had, was a way to keep me under his thumb using my weaknesses and hurting me without having to do much. And mother clearly knew that there was something up with me and she started asking me a lot of questions about girls, about my male friends, about that one kid everyone found out they were gay, and how terrible that was, what did I think of that…” 

It made sense. Akira was a good liar. For someone to be good at lying, they had to have people asking questions. Questions they couldn’t answer for fear of the consequences. Somewhere along the way, Akira’s feelings had been used against him, and he had to hide them all away. 

“If my father saw me looking sad, he’d ask me what was the deal, and then he’d dismiss whatever I said. He’d say he was more tired, or even more sad than me, he had more reasons, I didn’t. It was tiring, and it didn’t help me at all, so I stopped. Same thing with my friends at school.” He offered the information without any inflection of his voice. Like it was dull, and expected. “Sometimes… If I told my father that mom always took his side, he’d look… He’d say it was unfair, and oh poor me, but…” He hesitated. “He looked happy. That he was being chosen. I think it makes him feel superior. How many times have I told him things, and he’d either pity me, or say he was trying his best, and how he just wanted the best for me. It was always about him. I think it’s ego. It felt unfair, but I didn’t understand why. I just regretted saying anything.”

Talking never helped. Not before. Not after. Not even to a therapist. Maruki had been the last person Akira so much tried saying anything, and that had backfired splendidly. 

“And, as I said, my father is a doctor. Every time I got hurt or sick, he’d dismiss it too, say it was something very minor. When I fainted one of these days, he offhandedly said it was probably low blood pressure, and that it wasn’t a big deal anyway. He didn’t even measure it.” 

He stared at the wall on his side, eyes wandering through the rich colour dampened by the poor lighting.

“And he always does this. And mother does it too. I’ve been sick over those years, and more than once I’ve gone home with a nasty fever, or almost falling over. I know you’ve all wondered how I managed to go back home after Kamoshida’s palace.” He almost looked at them, but gave up on the last moment. “I awoke to my persona, fought half the palace, dragged me and Ryuji out, got chewed out by Kawakami, and went home without help. I was shaking in exhaustion, and I was feeling faint from running around with no food, plus fighting shadows in a palace. I managed to get back home and pretend for Sojiro because I’ve been doing this my whole life.” 

Practice. Practice led to perfection, and Akira had that kind of pretense down to an art. “It was not the first time I felt really sick but had to swallow it down and go home by myself. My parents were busy. I have already been told I shouldn't call them if it wasn't really important. I knew no one would come to pick me up even if I needed to. I tried before, but they said they couldn't go. Why should I ask them again, knowing it would just leave me more heartbroken and humiliated? When I could just trick everyone else, and myself, that I could manage just fine alone?”

He didn’t want to ask them to come for him, and being denied. He didn’t need to do that. 

“But I know it runs deeper than that. It’s not just that I know adults don’t have time for sick children. It’s not that I don’t trust doctors in general. If it was, why wouldn’t I ask for _your_ help?” It was true. The thieves had proven to him that they would believe in him, they’d listen. But it was about more than trust. 

“My father would always say that what I had wasn’t a big deal, but when it was him he’d make this pathetic scandal. It was so cringy I started to feel repulsed at the idea of showing pain. I mean, I know I already felt like that when I was in Tokyo. It’s not… I told myself I had to be strong for you, but, deep down, I knew I just couldn’t show pain because I didn’t want to be that pathetic. I didn’t want to have anyone feeling as manipulated as I felt then.” 

He didn’t want his friends to pity him. And he didn’t want them to feel like they had to be nice to him because of that. He didn’t want them to feel like they owed him because he was hurt. He didn’t want to rub it in their faces. 

He didn’t want them to feel like he had felt every time his father complained about his health, and how his head hurt, he was dying, Akira should do whatever he wanted. Akira hadn’t been able to understand back then, but after he came back, he had seen so much, he had been around people others recognized as manipulators, and he started to understand.

“It looked so pathetic, and it was clearly for attention, and I don’t know, I hated it. It was always about getting sympathy. He’d be like, I’m such a good guy, why is everyone trying to kill me? And it’s not like anyone ever tried to kill him. I know how it is people actively trying to kill you,” he added, with a bitter huff. “He was just whining because some nurse in the hospital was rude to him, or the director wanted him to do something.” 

He paused, eyes still casted down, something defeated on his posture.

“He’s really respectable.” And oh, where was the surprise. Those screwed up older men tended to be. Yusuke knew the pain. Madarame had been one of those, and Yusuke had refused to acknowledge the truth because he knew no one would ever take his word against someone so respectable. His heart ached for his friend. He should have known. Akira had always understood when he talked about his former teacher. Akira had been so keen on getting Sojiro to like him, the one thing that tempted him to stay in Maruki’s reality had been the possibility of staying with Sojiro forever.

And absent parents just didn’t explain that. Not to that extent. Not to the point that Akira was clearly desperate, ready to ignore the cold shoulder, the bitter words and the unfair scolding. If Boss had been affable and loving and attentive from the very start, Yusuke could see how a kid no one paid attention to would fall for that. Give them all the attention they’d been starving for, and win them over. 

But Sojiro didn’t do that. He was distant, even cold. He took care of the barest necessities Akira had, and just let him be. He never pried, and he never asked too many questions. He didn’t strike up conversations. Sojiro wasn’t one for showering people with affection, or talking with them for too long, not even expressing interest in his kids’ interests. He was good at caring at a distance, at respecting kids’ spaces, at listening to them. He was calm. He didn’t measure himself in successes, he didn’t feel less because his cafe wasn’t popular. He was confident, but humble, and he didn’t place a lot of weight on his own ego. He was as far as possible from a narcissist. He was always honest. He didn’t pretend even for his customers, saying that as long as his cafe paid his bills, it was enough and he wouldn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t just for some more cash. 

He wasn’t the standard best father of the year. He wasn’t what most people would define as an ideal father figure. He was just safe for Akira in a very specific way. 

They could start to see the bigger picture of Akira’s life.

“My grandparents had fawned over my father his entire life. He’s a good professional, I think. But the thing is, everyone just kept spoiling him, and he ended up like that. Every minor inconvenience is enough to set him off. And he has this thing in which he thinks people are out to get him.” 

Akira might have tried to counter it, and balanced it by being the extreme opposite. Always in control. He kept his voice quiet, and he was very careful about making loud noises. No matter what, he would try to listen to people. He couldn’t be angry. Being angry was being out of control, and being scary, and it was awful. Even if things were awful, and unfair, he didn’t get angry. He never allowed himself. 

He would get sad, or he would get determined and smug, but never angry. He didn’t tell people when he was hurt, because he didn’t want them to tell him it was nothing, and because he didn’t want to make a big deal out of something that wasn’t. Because that was just manipulating other people, and Akira despised it. Akira also couldn’t look sad in front of his parents, because they would dismiss his feelings, or make him feel guilty for it, and it wasn’t worth it. 

He couldn’t look too happy either, because the things that made him happy usually weren’t appropriate. He made the mistake of smiling a little too fondly when Ryuji messaged him, and his mother was on his case about who was that mysterious girl who got him so lovestruck. 

She despised homossexuals with a fervor, so Akira wasn’t dumb enough to tell her the truth. It hurt, a little, having to hide the one feeling Akira actually thought it was kind of beautiful. He had felt a little guilty about thinking about his best friend like that, and he had struggled about himself quite a bit, but the feeling itself was… right. He still remembered how his heart felt like it was going to burst when Ryuji ran to him in Maruki’s palace, and how everything felt possible. It was beautiful, and empowering. It felt… wrong lying about that, as if it was his dirty secret. If anything, it was the purest thing Akira still has left. 

He couldn’t look too happy about his stuffed toys, about small girly things he managed to sneak into his room to feel a little less like he was drowning when he forced himself everyday to wear boys clothes. He couldn’t look upset about that either. 

Almost no emotion was safe, besides a contained and polite contentment. And Akira had set his poker face into something like that, he learned how to keep his heart tightly sealed away while he carved his face like one would carve stone, and set the most agreeable sentiment on it. A small smile, not too wide, or he’d gather attention about why he was so happy. If he laughed, he had the habit of hiding it, covering it with his hand and sounding as quiet as possible.

“He’d rely on me for venting out his problems, even problems with my mom and I didn’t know what to do anymore. I’ve always tried listening, and talking some sense back to him, but he got really defensive. Told me he just wanted to do what was best for everybody, that he was just human, that he was trying, and how could I be so cruel, and tell him to just grow up and try changing things.”

There was this thing, about repetition. He heard that so many times, he started to wonder if he was just really bad with words, if he was really being cruel. 

“Mother would be upset as well, if father complained that I was being insensitive. I tried explaining that he was the one who asked my opinion, but she insisted I was being heartless in the way I talked. I could say what I wanted, but not like that. I observed, then, tried to guess how he wanted to hear things, because there had to be the perfect answer, if I could just do better.”

There had to be the exact answer, to appease his father, and make things better. He learned that he had to read people, and tell them what they wanted to hear, because it was the only thing he was really allowed to do. Anything else was just cruelty.

“And… I didn’t know it before, but… apparently there was this woman.” He hesitated. “You know how a friend talked to my parents about Sojiro? About him taking me in for the year,” he clarified. “I found it out after I came back, but apparently it was this woman, who was a friend of the mother of a friend of mine.” He huffed a laugh. “Virtually strangers. No wonder Sojiro didn’t know anything about us, and this friend in common never showed up to see what was going on with me.” It was true. She had been a customer before moving out, and they didn’t stay in contact. Passing acquaintances. “It was enough of a connection to justify sending me away to live with a complete stranger.”

“Anyway, this friend of mine had been poking fun of me for getting arrested, and his parents heard,” he offered, emotionless. “They were gossiping about it later with their own friends, this woman included, and she said she knew of someone in Tokyo who had a soft spot for kids, and who might accept to take me in. The parents of my friend thought it was a good opportunity to score some points with my father, who is somehow influential in my hometown, and decided to bring it up.”

He paused, breathing deeply. 

“Father wasn’t that keen on the idea, because he could pay off other people who he would have better control over. Of course, he just said he didn’t know that woman enough to trust her with this, and then I showed him some pics, and lo and behold, he was on board. He wanted to meet her, and he wanted me to talk to her about meeting him.” 

He sighed. 

“I know it sounds pretty random to be explaining about this, but you’ll see what I’m getting at. Anyway. Father was happy about meeting that young woman and I didn’t really understand why. Before they sent me away, father told me it was the only good thing that came from my fuck up. He had the opportunity to talk to her. He even thanked me for that. Said he just wanted a friend, company, and that he was lonely, and he would be extra lonely without me, because I decided to leave. Even if I didn’t decide anything, he told me I was leaving because I wanted to, and so I’d have to deal with the consequences.”

In one way or another, it was his fault. Everything. To his arrest, to his father’s loneliness, to not being contacted at all while he was in Tokyo. He did that to himself, and his father was only trying to help.

“As you might know, they didn’t contact me. They still had some contact with Sojiro, as far as I know, but that was it. And, honestly? I felt free. I was suffocating back home, and while it was lonely in Tokyo, I felt lighter.” He worried his lower lip. He had hinted about it, just a little, when talking with Maruki. How he had felt free and content, happy even, with his new life in Tokyo. 

He shook his head, giving up on that thought. It wouldn’t lead him anywhere.

“The thing is, when I came back, I found out that my father was, in fact, trying to get into that woman’s pants, and she wasn’t particularly keen on the idea.” He half smiled. “You must imagine. He was used to getting everything he wanted in life. He is a control freak. A woman had the nerve of saying no.”

It was Shido, all over again. It wasn’t about that one woman. It was about feeling superior. It was about ego. Since it happened after Akira stopped Shido, and since his friends in Tokyo had reassured him Shido was in the wrong, it had been easier to see. 

It was terrifying, realizing how many times he just hadn’t understood why his parents were in the wrong because he was raised like this. He had no frame of reference before. He didn’t know Sojiro, he didn’t know Iwai, he just didn’t have other people to compare. He had felt wronged, but he couldn’t explain why, and since the other party could, he always left feeling like he was somehow in the wrong. 

Since he arrived in Tokyo, he had been wondering if he was wrong in saving that woman, and wasn’t that messed up? He stepped up for someone who was about to get raped, and he didn’t know anymore if he had been right, or if everyone else, his parents, the judge, the police, Shido, had been in the right. It had taken seeing Ryuji on the floor, ready to be murdered right before his eyes, for Akira to own it up and stop asking himself if he had been wrong in saving that woman. 

It had taken him being the one saved for a change for him to understand that it made a difference. For the victim, it would always make a difference, even if they couldn’t be exactly saved. Ryuji tried to save him, and even if he didn’t exactly manage it, it meant everything, to be on the other side of the equation. 

He only stopped asking himself if he had been guilty all this time, when he was alone in a strange city, and someone tried to save him without even knowing him, exactly as he had done for that woman. He understood then that he could never look away if he could help someone. Because being the one needing help, and receiving it, was everything.

“My father doesn’t usually go after many women. This one was just different. I think because she was a foreign. She was very beautiful, and everyone would envy him for having her. And why wouldn’t he want him? He told me himself, he has money, more than enough to buy whatever she wanted. But she refused, and he lost it. It was only then, when it was about an outsider, that I saw how deeply it runs, his need to control people.”

He did it with smiles and a meek demeanor. Then an explosive and unpredictable rage. Constantly defending himself, and apologizing and asking for Akira to don’t hate him. A very specific and refined kind of emotional manipulation.

“He was good at pretending to be nice. But then, when she started to clearly refuse him, he flipped. It was the first time in his life that someone denied him anything, and he just lost it. He was yelling, that he didn’t deserve that, that she didn’t have the right to do that to him, to spit on him like that. He started to say how he was so nice, why wouldn’t she want him, he could buy her anything she wanted.”

He paused for a moment, considering. 

“But I changed while in Tokyo.” His smile came, a bit smug, self deprecating, a mess. “I had a lot more guts. I got used to talking back to shadows and palace rulers, and, fuck, even God.” He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I just… told him it was just his own fault. That he was being immature, and misogynist, and she wasn’t his propriety, people just aren’t things, and not even his wife is his propriety, and he was being ridiculous.”

Joker’s eyes glinted. Rebellion. Defiance. He knew of that. He was the breath of indignation that had inflated Akira’s lungs to give that speech. He was that inseparable part of Akira who just couldn’t keep his head down, for the life of him.

The shadow took a lock of its own hair, twisting it idly.

“Then, he punched a wall, and I flinched and…” the small voice faltered. “His eyes _gleamed_. I think he was happy with it. For intimidating me.” It was hard, seeing Akira look that vulnerable confessing something that simply wasn’t his fault. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if it was always like that, and I just never noticed before… before I spent a year with Boss. Even when Boss didn’t like me, and when he could care less if I died… he never- I mean…” 

His voice crumpled, and he shut his mouth in a thin line, looking up as if to stop tears from coming. But they wouldn’t. There was no relief for him, not when he knew tears were dangerous, they were proof of his feelings, and they would make his life worse. He had made that choice, to just stop crying, no matter how much he wanted to.

“He keeps saying my mother is unbearable when she’s not there. And then he talks about the women he knows, all of those whores, lots of boyfriends, always fucking around with their loose pussies. It was… so, so, uncomfortable. He’d tell me I was right in not dating any of them, because they were all bitches anyway, and they only wanted money.” He spat out the words, but they were still disturbing to hear.

“And what should he do, about his coworkers, about my mother, about how unfulfilled he feels. And oh, how his self esteem was shot down, that woman should have just killed him, because he was feeling so down, and what should I do, son? You think I deserved this, don’t you? It's your fault, for making me meet her. I'm paying for your fuck up.”

The last of his sentence echoed in a different voice around the room, and it took them a while to recognize it as Akira’s father’s. The shadow tensed up and stopped breathing altogether while the room was threatened to be engulfed in darkness. There was fear, thick in the air, and they could almost feel the body of someone bigger and older looming over them. 

The shadow shook its head, regaining control. It was such a stupid thing. He hated feeling that affected. That was nothing. He pressed on.

“The way father talks about women in a way so… I don’t know.” He kept breathing with a purpose, forcing himself under control. “I’ve made the mistake of telling him… more like mentioning that I wanted a blouse from the women section.” He had tried to appear nonchalant, but he could tell it didn’t work. “God, I was so stupid. I was feeling alone and I had no one to talk, and when he kinda offered it, I fell for it like an idiot.” Because of course he did, when would he ever learn something?

“And then he would keep talking about women like that, and he looked at me, and I regretted telling him what I had. But he just keeps talking, it’s degrading. And he hints, sometimes, of what mother would say if she knew, of how her boy isn’t that much of a boy.” He gave a small bitter smile. There it was again, him trusting, and his words being used to trap him. 

“I kept thinking of my friends, of all those wonderful people I met, and I wanted to talk back, but the last time I did, he started with breaking things, and slamming doors, and punching the walls. And I know it’s… it sounds so stupid, but loud noises really set me off these days.” 

The confession sounded particularly quiet, as if that was a big shame for him. 

“And… I’ve been trying for years, and he just changes for the worst, so it wouldn’t really make a difference if I said what I really thought. And I’d have dozens of my triggers getting into my face for nothing. I’ve told him before I startle at loud noises, but…” Wasn’t it stupid how it took Akira months to notice his father was doing it on purpose? That his apologies weren’t sincere? “When I noticed how gleeful he looked after he startled me once, I started to hide it again. I pretend I don’t care for it at all so he will stop doing it on purpose. He still does it, because he remembers what I told him. But he doesn’t do it more, because he’s not sure it’s really efficient to keep me in check.”

He had had a feeling, before, that it wasn’t a good idea to let people know he was scared. But it was just a fear on the back of his mind, something he could pretend it wasn’t there. It was just… It happened less, it came up less, if he didn’t know that Akira didn’t like when he did something. It was better to hide. He had been doing it, instinctively, even before he fully understood why.

“And it’s not like it’s hard. I had to do it at school as well,” he added, as an afterthought. “That's kinda how repression works. I couldn't flinch. You don't understand. If people knew.” He shook his head slightly. 

“Half of the school would slam their fists on the table just to torment me, to see if the delinquent has some weakness after all. So I stopped myself. I didn’t manage to stop feeling startled, to stop my heart from racing, or my lungs to seize up on me. But I could pretend I didn’t feel anything. I could make it so it didn’t show. I had been doing it for a lot of things before too.”

It was a hurtful behaviour, but ultimately it kept him safe over the years. From people he thought were his friends, to his own parents. 

The thing was, it really had been the only possible choice. Akira chose to lose an arm to save a leg. 

“Father doesn’t outright tell me what he wants me to do. He keeps acting like he’s my friend, and then if I don’t do exactly what he wants, or say what he wants to hear, he would… make me feel guilty about it. He says he loves me, that he thinks I’m beautiful, and that he does everything for me, and that I never try to understand him.” It sounded… eerily familiar. That sort of manipulation.

“He then makes me hug him, and if I don’t he will get upset, and he’ll say that when I was a kid I liked hugs, and why was I refusing him, he is just being a good father. If mother is around, she will look scandalized and make me hug him.”

He stopped, and his hesitation was palpable. 

“The thing is… he’s not… I don’t know.” He gave up on his sentence half way, clearly struggling to put into words whatever was in his mind. “But after coming back from Tokyo, I started to realise he isn’t… very appropriate?” It was a question, because he honestly didn’t know. “There were loads of times I felt uncomfortable, and I said so, but he would get really offended, and mother would be disappointed, and I was forced into situations because I shouldn’t feel uncomfortable, and it didn’t matter if I did anyway. I had to do it.”

His right hand picked up a small pebble on the ground, feeling it between his fingers. He needed a moment to continue. A red gloved hand moved to rest on top of his left hand, where it lay on the stone floor. Holding. Telling him to keep going, because something might change if he did.

“I’ve mentioned to him the health check-ups at school, and one of those times, he…” his voice faltered, and he looked down to look at Joker’s hand. “Father said it couldn’t be trusted, those doctors who were so incompetent they ended up working at school. He said he should do it at home too. He wanted to look at… well.” He looked away, eyes firmly on the wall. “He wanted to see… my private parts?” He tried, ashamed. “I was unsure. Because I wasn’t a kid anymore, and he had been saying how he wondered how I changed down there too, and… I felt uncomfortable. But what if I had something? He told me it was possible that I did. He told me it was no big deal, and that I had no reason to refuse.” 

His voice was thick with emotion, but unsure, and small.

“So… he looked.”

He let go of the pebble on his hand, letting it fall on the ground with a small click.

“He said it was really pretty. Said my future wife was a lucky lady. I-I… I didn’t like it,” he admitted in the same small voice. “It never happened again. But he did sometimes enter my room without knocking, and watched me changing clothes while talking about something. He paid attention sometimes, and I felt so uncomfortable.” He sounded bewildered, as if he couldn’t understand why he felt like it was a big deal, when it wasn’t. “I wanted to scream, to crawl out of my skin and not be me for like one day. He keeps… telling me I’m sexy, and so young, and that I did a very good job at remaining a virgin, that I was better than all of those loose women out there.” 

His hand shook as he picked up another small stone. He resolutely didn’t look up. There were words he wasn’t saying. 

Even in his heart, Akira just couldn’t make himself talk about a few things aloud. The shame still burned his throat. He was already opening up too much, the risk was already too high. He was already showing too many emotions. 

And no emotion was really safe. No words were safe either, they just dug his grave a little deeper, each time. His father could take whatever he wanted, if Akira set him off. He had to choose his answers very carefully, or he’d pay. He had to watch his father, and guess what he wanted to hear that would appease him and distract him long enough so he wouldn’t start talking about Akira’s body. So he wouldn’t demand hugs, or for Akira to touch him in any way. He had to watch his answers, so his father’s mood wouldn’t deteriorate, and he’d be an almost bearable companion. He couldn’t screw up, because if he did, his mother wouldn’t help. No one would help. His true feelings didn’t matter, the truth hardly mattered, if no one would hear him anyway. There has never been someone who would, back in his hometown. Every secret he had said aloud had been used against him, to keep him in control. 

It was easier to see then. Akira was a child conditioned into silence. 

He firmly didn’t look at any of them. He couldn’t do this if he watched their reactions. He kept going, because if he didn’t, he would fall silent and he wouldn’t find it in himself to talk again. 

“I think that’s why I reached out for Ann. I had noticed how she got when Kamoshida was close. It’s not… I think normal boys don’t really notice these things, I guess? These… very small signs? But I’ve noticed how she didn’t like to look him in the eyes, how empty her eyes and her smile were when he got too close but she didn’t have a good excuse to get her personal space back.” By that time, he still didn’t understand why it resounded within his own heart. He knew he had felt like her, but he still couldn’t understand how, since nothing like that had happened to him. 

The thing was, it had. He knew how it felt to be that uncomfortable with something an older man did, while everyone else deemed it acceptable. As if there could be consent with so many threats lying around. 

Ann clenched her hands in fists. She had felt it, a connection, a subtle mutual understanding in the transfer student’s eyes. At the time, she hadn’t understood why it was so easy trusting him with that. He had said it was because it was easy to trust a stranger, but she wasn’t convinced. 

There was just something about him, when he looked at her, after hearing Kamoshida’s threats to her over the phone. An odd sort of despair, like all air had been punched out of his lungs. She had felt like he had looked then, trapped, suffocating under the looming threat of being forced. 

Shiho had looked into his eyes and saw something as well. Enough so that timid and reserved Shiho had struck up a conversation, telling him not to feel down. She had seen the loneliness, the pit of despair behind fake glasses, and reached out. She hadn’t done it for Ryuji, or looked twice at Makoto, even if they both had been terribly lonely and had reputations crushing them to the ground, in one way or another. But she had reached out for Akira. It wasn’t because of his reputation, or because he looked lonely, but because he reminded her of Ann, and of herself in a very specific way.

Birds of the same feather. 

Ann had been close to both of them. How hadn’t she noticed it before? Why hadn’t she just seen it? 

The shadow continued talking. 

“I saw Ann crying at the station right after talking to him, and I couldn’t stop myself. It was the same thing as that woman I saved. I couldn’t keep watching someone living my worst fear come true. I didn’t even understand very well why I was so afraid of it. ” He was ready to help people, always, but it was always a knee jerk reaction when it came to a fear he could intimately understand. “I looked back at it, and wondered how no one noticed how… how I was always tangled in these kind of situations, how it always brought forward my most unchecked reactions, and it was because I fucking knew them.” 

His voice was thick, heavy with emotion. His eyes were dry. 

“Just looking at those things made me try harder to look masculine, to be as straight as I could. I was scared of people noticing. What if someone noticed I liked men too? Would I attract those abusers?” Was that even a thing? Could he deserve it, somehow? “Did Kamoshida notice? It always struck me as weird how he… he offered me a ride too, just like Ann. And, at the time, I just thought he was being polite, and I was being overcautious. But, when we got to his castle, we discovered how he saw boys as slaves. He hit his students and everyone knew. Why would he bother being polite with me? Why would he bother trying to look like a nice guy to me, when he didn’t bother doing it to the other male students?” 

He paused, unsure. 

“Kamoshida stopped being nice to me because he figured out I was the criminal transfer student, and he focused on expelling me so he could defend his school and his ego, starting treating me like he treated all the other boys, thank God, but… I wondered.” And wasn’t that the hardest part? Wondering. “It could be just my imagination. Father, too, it could be just me being conceited. Like, why would anyone make that much effort to get into my pants, you know?” He huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not that pretty. Ann is, everyone notices her, evidently she was right about him, his harassment, and everything. She was clearly a victim.” He sounded absolutely sure of it. 

“Me? Maybe not. Things happened to me, but I didn’t know if I could be considered a victim. But I know I’ve always known where to look. I know how someone looks when they’re uncomfortable with someone touching them. I… felt like I knew those situations. I could recognize them, and I couldn’t let them happen to people.” 

A red gloved hand squeezed the shadow’s hand briefly, clearly approving that line of thought. 

“I wanted to punch someone when I heard about these things from Kamoshida about Shiho, and Ann. My hands itched for me to get up and beat them up for having the nerve, for being so rotten, for taking advantage of vulnerable people.” He was so sick of it, his heart burned with the want to scream, to rage, and it had been burning for years. 

“But I was too afraid. I knew the feeling, though, so that’s why I never gave Ryuji a hard time for running on me and going to yell at Kamoshida, after knowing what he did to Suzui. Even if we ended up risking expulsion, and I risked being arrested again, I never blamed him. I’d much rather be friends with someone who also couldn’t stand those fuckers than someone who’d look away.” 

He just couldn’t stand the kind of people who looked away. He had felt so hopeless every time his mother just wouldn’t help. 

“I was so scared of the day something bad ended up happening to me, and everyone looked away,” he confessed, eyes firmly on the ceiling, his voice this bit vulnerable. 

“Father gave me things, and bought me sweets sometimes, and told me how he spoiled me.” It had always felt… Akira had always felt belittled in a way. He never asked for any of those things, and he hated how they were used to rub it into his face. He had had part time jobs, before his arrest and before every damn store in his hometown somehow knew about it. That’s why he had approached it with relative ease in Tokyo. He was used to working and having his own money. Which is why it had been particularly difficult not having that on those first days. But it served him well, to make him even more fiercely attached to his independence. 

It was another thing that made Sojiro so nice to be around. He didn’t give him anything, and if he did, he never, ever hung it over his head. He never even mentioned it again. Boss flat out refused to give him money for lunch or anything, and while that had sucked a bit, it was better than the alternative. For anyone else, it might have looked like so little, Boss would just once hand him a little bit of money, or give him a cheap and simple gift. But it was a lot. 

Sojiro never did anything to make Akira feel indebted. He didn’t do things expecting something in return. When Akira gave him flowers to show his appreciation for everything, the old man had been embarrassed, clearly caught off guard. He had thanked the boy, but said that it really wasn’t necessary, and for Akira to please just spend his money on something else next time. 

The shadow blinked until the lump on its throat was a bit more manageable. He missed Sojiro so badly. 

“Father put food on the table too, and sometimes I felt nauseous just by looking at it. I ate anyway, because I was pretty hungry, and what else was I supposed to do? But it felt like… it felt wrong, and I felt so trapped. I didn’t know anymore how I ended up like this.” 

He stopped, thoughtful. 

“A month or two ago, he found out the woman he wanted found herself a lover. She chose him, and didn’t even want to meet father once.”

“This was the turning point I guess. When I finally realised he was out of his mind. Everything I told you until now were things I only noticed after this. After I took one step back and _looked_.” 

He kept drawing uneven circles on the stone floor with the tip of his finger. Trying to detach himself as much as he could from his own story.

“He said if he killed himself, it’d be my fault.” 

Futaba tried to breathe, past the rush of tears that kept running down her cheeks. 

“I remember standing there in our living room, and when I looked at him, I felt like I had never really seen him at all.” His voice was lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Maybe the weight of trying and trying to fix it. It was something else to realise he couldn’t fix anything, because it wasn’t his fault. “Everything had been there all the time, but I had never seen it. I knew things weren’t okay when they sent me to Tokyo alone, but… there were always excuses, and there were always explanations, and… I don’t know, before I didn’t really know what normal was. You never do. It’s your family, and it’s your parents, and it’s all you really know about life. I didn’t have other adults around me before Tokyo. And…” 

He breathed deeply, to steady his voice.

“If it hadn’t been for Ann… If I hadn’t been with her, and if I hadn’t listened to Shiho after she jumped off the roof… If I hadn’t understood it before I heard it myself, I don’t think I’d have ever realised. How manipulative that was. How it really couldn’t be my fault. It was so… out of control, and so cruel, I finally snapped out of it and looked at my father for the first time in my life.” 

It was freeing, in a way. 

“It’s… easier, after the illusion is gone. I could finally read all of the other small signs, and see him for what he really was.” It had taken him so long, but Akira had that bad habit, he’d give chances with his last breath, and only pull away in the last second. 

“Father was really stressed one of these days, and he was being… not exactly violent, but it was awful. He’d say bad things about all of us, and blame us for the things going wrong in his life. Then said we never understood him, and how ungrateful we were, how unfair we were to him.” 

It was suffocating, being the target of all that frustration, of being accused of everything that went wrong in an adult’s life. But Akira had heard it from Maruki, and he had been hearing that for years anyway. He had been kept firmly in check with those small looks of disappointment, with those meek words that they were only trying to help and Akira just didn’t try to understand, and how selfish he was, how cruel. Akira couldn’t even hate them, because they were doing that because they liked him, because they wanted to help but Akira was making everyone miserable on purpose.

“I didn’t have one good friend to talk to. Things were weird between me and everyone I left in Tokyo. I didn’t know how to reach out when I was there, even more so when I was so far away, and after everyone was busy doing important things. I wasn’t even sure if there was something wrong. But I felt trapped. He was really angry sometimes, he had been before, and he had this habit of breaking things and all of that. Most of the time, I just stood there, because I didn’t know what to do.”

The gnawing doubt in the back of his mind, the small voice wondering if he had been wrong after all, if his father was right.

“He looked like he wanted to cry, and then he kept saying that I wasn’t supportive, and that if anyone ever needed me if they were thinking of killing themselves, I’d make them do it.” His voice shook terribly. “I protested. I denied it, and said he was just stressed, and that we should talk another day. He then said that he always tried to do good for me, and he was always thinking of me, and made me promise him I’d think well of him when I went to sleep that night.” His breathing was crumbling again, but he ignored it. 

“I lied. I lied through my teeth, because I wanted him to go away. My life was crumbling, and I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t even know why things were ruining again. Didn’t I do my part? Why? Was it me? Why couldn't I have one moment of peace? Why do things always take a turn for the worst? When would this nightmare end? I was feeling on the edge all the time, just waiting for when the terror crawling and haunting the rooms of my home would finally turn into something solid. Everyday, I was waiting for when he’d finally snap, and all of my fears would come true. In a way, Sojiro’s way of being very distant and never entering into my personal space was a blessing, and that was probably why I was so desperate to get him to like me. He felt safe, and that's saying a whole lot because adult men weren’t safe.” 

Lavenza had known it. She had said to him, he had always been a prisoner of fate, but he had been naive, he had been trying to survive another day and he just didn’t think of himself at all. He failed to understand that there was a solid reason why his heart had been a prison since the beginning, and it never stopped being that, not even after everything was done with, even after his stunt as the trickster had ended. When he was last there, consciously, in the velvet room, it had been the same prison as ever, even after Akira thought he had shed the last of his masks.

“I sleep well when he's not home. And life isn’t so bad when I’m alone at home. I don’t have to pretend, and I don’t have to lie.”

Because he didn’t have anyone to defend himself against. When he was around his father, and his mother as well, for different reasons, he hid, and he stopped talking about important things. 

“I think he is depressed. I just know that he was always angry, and always lashing out at every one of us. He had been good to me, or at least that’s how I tried to see it, but suddenly he was a monster, and I fucking lived with him. I had no way of getting out. I was so damn scared. I was terrified, to be honest. No one would fucking listen to me, not with a record, not with my reputation. What if… What if he made a move on me? He’d tell me I was too pretty, and oh if I wasn’t his son he’d marry me, and I was so uncomfortable.” He confessed in a small voice, sounding unsure, a little baffled. Like he couldn’t quite understand what warranted his reactions. 

“I was terrified. He’d touch me and I wanted to scream, but nothing was happening, and why was I making such a big deal out of it?” His voice was shaking, and he sounded like he really wanted to cry. 

“And he keeps coming back to ask what I think. Like I could tell. But he vents to me, because my reactions are tamer I guess. Or because he knows he can control me. I think he likes the unbalance of power. I hate figures of authority so much, you have no idea. It’s always this. It always comes to this. They can’t let us go because they like controlling people. Making them suffer because they can. But… I didn’t see it before. I just wanted to help, and he was asking for help. I didn’t think there was something wrong with that.”

Oh. It just wasn’t natural for a kid Akira’s age to feel like they should be the person whom an adult should rely on to vent problems. Iwai had found it strange, and had tried to make Akira back away. Takemi had done it too. Kawakami. A politician. An ex yakuza. They had all found it odd, that kid who was too mature for his age. They’d been grateful for his help, but all of them had found it weird, and had felt guilty for relying on a kid with problems like that. But Akira treated it like it was normal, like it was something expected of him. Like it was his burden to carry.

As much as he had wanted to talk, as he had wanted the truth to be out there, it still hurt to talk past the silence that had been his safe haven his whole life. His throat was trying to close up on him, every fiber of his being scared of talking about what mattered. 

The shadow pulled Joker’s hand closer, holding it between his fingers and testing the fabric covering the surface. He looked thoughtful.

“I think I know why the velvet room deteriorated so quickly.” He didn’t look up, but he heard the gasps of surprise. Maybe the thieves had thought he didn’t know how bad things were, in his heart. “As I said, more than never, father got really unpredictable, and mother started to travel a lot for work, trying to reestablish herself.” He continued worrying the red fabric between his fingers. 

His story was jumbled together, bits and pieces of moments scattered around the years being mashed together to try and paint a bigger picture. Words that remained unsaid for so long Akira didn’t know how to articulate them. 

“I haven’t felt safe at home, lately. At all.” He admitted, quietly. 

“Two days ago, it was early morning, mother was away on a business trip, and I had woken up briefly. I turned and decided to go back to sleep, when… Father opened my door. He didn’t say a word, but he kept looking for a long time. A very long time.” It sounded painful to talk with a voice that shook that much, but he steadied it as best as he could and continued.

“Then, he closed the door, very, very quietly so not to wake me up. I didn’t know what to think of it. I was terrified. I tried talking to my mom, that he’s too angry lately and maybe if she talked him out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. She says it’s stress, that he’s a sweet man. My former friends… they wouldn’t listen, they were glad when things went wrong for me.” He knew where they were coming from, but it still didn’t make things right. 

They had been together since they were ten, and after a few years every one of them found out they weren’t straight. It had been a bit odd, how they clicked together despite all of the differences, but eventually they found out why. The problem was that it was a very small city, and this one friend was gay and very much homophobic. It just soured their relationship, and the venom started to flow between the group, each one trying to outdo each other to reestablish their own self esteem. Akira had thought he could salvage it, somehow, but after coming back, he realised he had done enough, and it just wasn’t his responsibility. 

“I never had much contact with my extended family. I didn’t have any older friends who might know what to do. I couldn’t trust my teachers. And father had always drilled it into my head, that… you can never side against family. You should never speak up about what happens inside your house, and you should never pry about what happens in other people’s houses. He wouldn’t listen, mom wouldn’t listen, and things were so much worse when I talked. Nothing changed for the better, and the terror only escalated. I tried confronting him, and…” His words were jumbled, tumbling down his lips before he could give up on talking.

“Every day it gets worse. He’s now committed to finding himself a lover, since he’s still butthurt about being turned down. He says he does it because mother certainly is doing it too.” He scowled, upset. “The last one he found had actually been married before, but her scumbag of a husband used to beat her up. When father didn’t score with her, he started talking about how she probably liked to be beaten, anyway.” He took a deep breath, grabbing a fistful of his own hair. “Then he challenged me to talk back about that, and I just didn’t.” He looked away, crushed. 

“I don’t know what else he might do to me, and I don’t think I want to find out.” 

Joker let go of his hand, with a poorly disguised frustration. A bit of resentment even. Contempt.

That was it, in the end. Akira knew things could always get so much worse. He barely dared to breathe, because the slightly wrong move could be his downfall. His friends had marvelled at how good he was at keeping it together when under pressure. It was just practice, really. He should have known it wasn’t normal when he had been able to shoulder on what he had last year without as much trouble as expected.

“I wanted to run away. So, so far away. At a point in my life, I had wanted to run away and never talk to anyone anymore because knowing people had always been the kickstart to all kinds of misery in my life. I just wanted to be alone. I’d not be happy, but at least I wouldn’t be fucking miserable. If things wouldn’t get better, fine, but I would be really grateful if they didn’t get absolutely worse?”

Things kept getting worse, always. He should have gotten a clue in his year in Tokyo, every week brought more bad things for him to deal with.

“I didn’t talk back when they said I should go to summer classes, because I was desperate to move out. If I could just hold on, and if I could just make my own money, I could leave. I could honest to God leave, and I wanted that so badly.” 

His voice trembled. He had just wanted to leave.

"And it’s not like I really had a choice. They had expectations for me. I had to do as well as my successful father, or... they'd give up on me. They had sent me away once, they could do it again. And, while I'd love to go away, I was scared of ending up in a place worse. I was lucky with Sojiro, and you guys know I don't do luck." He half smiled, deprecatingly. 

Makoto bit her lip. Akira had understood her. He had never been harsh to her, even if she had been really rude when she was investigating them. He had understood that it just wasn’t easy to shrug off people’s expectations. It was more than trying to please. It was also because, if you’re held to a standard of perfection, you just don’t know what would happen to you, if you failed. That looming doubt was as good as anything to keep people complying. 

“Everyday he says something, and I do my best to ignore it all, but my mother keeps telling me I have to talk more to him, and be nicer, and if things don’t go well, it’s my fault. I hate it. He’s the sole king in my house. Mother will always take his side. She knows most of what he does, but she won’t ever defend me.” He looked at the ceiling, thoughtful. “But he’s not stupid. Even when he seems out of control, I think he is in control because… he never says the truly disturbing things when mother is close. And if I tell her, she won’t believe it, because it is really bad. I can scream all I want, and try to make her understand, but she won’t listen. I think, deep down, she knows what he does and who he is, but she still loves him more. And there’s really nothing you can do for people to love you, so.” 

He didn’t sound particularly sad. That shadow just didn’t do much of extreme emotions, it seemed. It was carefully under control, its expressions were always meticulously delivered. 

“And in the middle of that, I realised my year in Tokyo was a blessing even when everything was going to shit. Things were easier then, I realized. I'd rather take another beating, honestly. I hated the looming threat, the small touches, the verbal abuse and the manipulation.” 

Ryuji felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He had never dared even thinking about that, he never said it aloud, but he understood it. There was a small satisfaction in being beaten up. He had hated how his former friends would sneer behind his back, and spit vague threats, and look at him with contempt. He would much rather take a punch and be over with it. His dad, as well, he’d yell and terrify his mom, but when he just punched his son, he’d calm down quickly, and it would be over. The tension would die down for a little while, and it was enough. He could think to himself, on some days, that maybe if the next beating got worse the police would do something. It was stupid, it was a very bad way to cope, but it was hope, in a twisted way. 

“The worst thing was that at least my bruises could be proof enough, but this? No one would believe in me. My father is polite, and he plays the role of kind doctor to everyone. Even if you looked at me beaten black and blue, and said it wasn't a big deal, you would at least acknowledge something happened. The terror I was living in my home? That couldn't be said aloud, and there was so much room to say I wasn't hurting. I myself wondered sometimes if I wasn't just overreacting. When it's only you seeing something you start to doubt it you know? Sometimes I wish he'd just hurt me for real, punch me or something. Instead of saying all of those things, and force me to hug him, and force me to sit by his side and pretend everything was okay. Every time I had to swallow down a panic attack by his side, I wished he'd just beat me so we could stop pretending. So it would end.”

The shadow sighed, resting its forehead on its bent knees. His words came a bit muffled.

“He says the most disturbing things. He says he’d let me kill him. W-why… would he even think of that? He might have a persecution complex. One day I was chopping vegetables in the kitchen and he commented how I could kill him with that knife.” He had probably noticed how deftly Akira could handle it, but why would he say that? Akira would never kill anyone. He had had the chance, multiple times, but it just wasn’t who he chose to be. 

“He is getting worse. If he thinks that, what’s really stopping him from doing something crazy with me? If I at least knew what, but… he’s just unstable. Unpredictable. It does wonders for one’s anxiety living with that. Now, more than never, I have to keep my emotions in check. It’s why the velvet room is deteriorating quicker. My heart already wasn’t in top condition, and now I’m trying really hard not to show any feelings. To be honest, I was trying not to even feel anything, scared of not being able to hide it well enough. I was doing it for years, hiding my feelings, but it was always more of a defense against emotional hurt. Now I’m trying not to set him off because he will do something bad to me, and I don’t know what.”

People said ignorance was bliss, but Akira had his doubts. Sometimes, he wished he just knew how bad things would get, so he could at least try to prepare. 

“And, of course, mother is going for a new position in her job, and she’s always traveling. She went away a few days ago.”

He had wanted to beg her to stay. But he knew she wouldn't, and he didn't want to hear her saying that. She asked him if he wanted to come along, and he wished so hard he could go. But he knew if he did, when he came back, things would be terribly worse, and his mother just wouldn’t help.

“I tried telling her he’s too angry lately. That he’s breaking things, and yelling. That he keeps blaming me for everything.” It was a somehow candid explanation, not even touching the real reasons. She reacted like he had said horrible things, anyway.

“Mother says he didn’t mean it like that. That I shouldn’t talk like that about my father. That I was overreacting. That I was too sensitive. That I had to be mature, and a good boy, and help my father. He works a lot and I don’t understand that because I’m just a jobless kid. That I have to take care of him. If she’s not home, then I should make his meals and take care of the house, because he’s already too busy, and he shouldn’t have to deal with that. She forces me to hug him when he wants it but I don’t. He makes me say I love him, and if I don’t put exactly how much emotion she thinks I should, she gets scandalized and makes me say it again. She chides me if she thinks I’m not hugging him enough. He keeps making me say that I think well of him. I have to lie every time, and over and over about my feelings because they’re never right.” 

He hated it, and he knew it was killing him, bottling up everything like that. He had known it since before, it was hard not to notice how off he felt some days, when he executed too many personas, or when he forgot one of them there, and they perished. And he had known too, deep down, that repressing his feelings while his heart felt that torn wouldn’t help, he knew he had messed up, he knew how it felt to be almost dying, and he could recognize that feeling every time he forced himself to deliver the perfect answer, and refused to cry over anything. 

“I have to lie that I’m straight, and it’s not that bad, but mother keeps pressuring me to get a girlfriend, and I have to lie about my feelings again. Father asked if I learned my lesson after what happened in Tokyo, and I made the mistake of saying that no, I wasn’t wrong. He keeps reminding me that my life is done for, that this is how life is, that he even knows how I feel because there’s nothing else for him in life anyway, and why don’t I just give up.” 

Joker looked away. It was unnerving, seeing him faltering. The shadow kept talking.

“And here’s the thing, every time he gets like this, it’s… I have to guess what he wants to hear so he’ll let me go. What I think has never mattered. I have to say what he wants to hear, no matter how much those words tear me apart, and I have to say what mother wants to hear because otherwise she will try to fix me in ways I don’t… I mean, I’m already in love with someone, and I don’t… Why can’t she just let me? She keeps telling me how wrong it is, even if I’ve never come out to her. I think she might know, and she’s trying to make me stay in the closet forever. Because if you don’t look at the truth, you can keep pretending. 

And Akira had such a visceral reaction to people pretending everything was just fine. He hated with a passion the very idea of looking away from the truth, just because it was hard. 

“And… with everything turning on its head on me, I just… It’s weird, but I looked back on my year in Tokyo, and suddenly…” He let out a shaky breath, clearly running out of steam. "I was... I felt accomplished. Like I had done it. Surpassed the unimaginable. Conspired against the odds and won. But it wasn't... There wasn't anything left for me. What did I have? What could I possibly do? Sae told me how everyone would still judge me, sentence revoked or not, I had a stigma. My parents… it was complicated. My only friends were walking away." 

He didn’t know how to connect with his friends that far away. He had always relied on face to face interactions, he knew how to keep a conversation going if he could actually sit down with his friends, but on text? Akira sucked at texting, he barely talked in the group when he was in Tokyo, and he had no idea how to start now. And it just felt awkward, admitting to everything that was happening. 

"One day, I woke up in my old bed, got up to watch my parents across the breakfast table. We were strangers. Or, more probably, my father was my enemy. I left for school, alone, because I got caught trying to sneak Morgana in. The teacher had wanted to check for drugs in my bag, because I had been to juvie and who knew what kind of crew I mixed with?” No one, was the answer, but since when has anyone believed in him anyway?

“I went to classes, and went home, because I couldn't find a part time job. I couldn't start anew and make new acquaintances. There was no one for me to charm, or who'd want me lending an ear. No tools to make, and no goal. I went to bed that night, and... I had been broken here, but there? I couldn't even breathe. I lay in bed one night and realized that I might... I might be done, y'know? I already did my magnum opus. All magic left, exactly as my velvet room vanished back then. The only really good parts of my whole life happened in that one year in Tokyo. And when I stopped being useful, it was torn from my hands. Every friend I made, everything I fought so hard for. I was leaving, and everything inside me was crumbling down. I was still back living my life with people who hated me, living with a monster in my house.” He tried to go for a small and bitter laugh.

"I sleep with the sharpest scissors I have on my bedside table. I don't think I'd been able to use it, but if he was home and I didn't do that, I couldn't sleep."  
  
He finally stopped talking, breathing a little too fast after it was over. It might not even be over, but he had run out of whatever thing that was fueling him, and he just looked stretched thin. Exhausted beyond belief. 

For the first time, he chanced a glance towards the group, not really taking in their expressions, just trying to judge the distance between him and them. He didn’t look like he thought they were going to hurt him, but he looked uncomfortable. Ann elbowed Ryuji’s side, and, one by one, they got up, taking a step back. 

Makoto was the first to try to say something.

“Maybe if we talk to the authorities-”

“No!” The shadow lunged to its feet, and Joker held it back, despite the terrified look on its face.

“Joker, maybe it’s not-“

“What do you know?!” The shadow bellowed, finally snapping. “What do you think I will do, go to the police for this?! I’m done trying to trust the authorities, I don’t know if you noticed but even _your sister_ couldn’t help me, in the end!” He yelled, breathing hard, tears trying to pool in his eyes. Joker had a death grip on him, but it barely seemed enough.

Wasn’t that just the truth? He bitterly remembered how everyone thought he was an adult when they demanded him to be beaten up, to take responsibility, to be yelled at and punched. But then, when they demanded justice for Shido, they were just kids. _Do it for me, I’ll prove adults can do something._ Fucking lies. Akira trusted the adults, Sae, and Maruki, _his parents_ even, and, look, exactly where it got him.

“Go away!” he shouted, voice cracking mid sentence. “You’ve already left once, why don’t you just leave again?”

The shadow trashed in Joker’s arms, elbowing him hard on his face, not stopping even at the quiet grunt of pain. 

There was blood running from a corner of their leader’s mouth. He changed his grip, helding the shadow in a hug, a gentle hand on his twin's back, and addressed them. 

“It’s not going well.” Joker admitted. “There’s only so much I can do. I’m his rebellious will, of course it would hurt when he’s feeling like giving up. Like it’s not worth it going down fighting.” 

He closed his eyes, breathing unevenly. Those last memories were the worst for him. The ones Akira blocked out were vicious and shameful, but back then he had a goal and was willing to fight. Joker thrived, he had something to go against, his rebellion shone the brightest. 

But by the end, Akira just didn’t have enough in him to keep struggling. Maruki brought back very painful trauma, and his hometown was just a roll of days slowly crushing his will. His rebellion started to simmer down. 

“It is kinda my fault we got into all the messes I got into my life. At least most of it,” Joker admitted, with a small smile.

“He’s stopping to believe in fighting back,” Morgana concluded, with a rough trembling to his voice.

“Yeah.”

Makoto’s eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on her. She looked at her leader.

“It hurts you.”

“Yeah.” His smile came as easy as always, but it was a pained one. 

He had been holding the whole place together since day one. If Akira hadn’t broken yet, it was because of him, that bright piece of rebellion burning like a curse in his heart. He hadn’t had enough fight in him for a while, and he had been running on sheer stubbornness since then. It was already a miracle he made it this far.

Joker tried smiling at her. 

“If he hadn’t given up until now it’s all me. Every time he believed you all cared, or that he would see you again soon, it was me.” 

He looked apologetic. 

“Rebellion is akin to hope in some ways. Even when everything is against you, you keep believing in something. Even if it looks impossible, you don’t give up. Of course, he probably only experimented it in bursts since leaving, because there was too much going on here, and I can only do so much. But, in some ways, wanting to fight back is really painful.” 

It was excruciating, not being able to give up. To keep believing things could change, and being disappointed when they didn’t, and yet never learning his lesson. “So he has come to resent me. Me, who cannot give up. It’s painful, not giving up.”

Oh, that made sense. How angry the shadow was at Joker’s hope, and yet how quickly he turned to him for comfort and reassurance. That last shadow was the one who was more detached from Joker, from Akira’s cursed determination to defy everything wrong in the world. But he still couldn’t let go of his rebellion, he couldn’t stop caring and that hurt too much. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” The shadow crumpled to the floor, making Joker follow its descent. 

“This is what I am,” he tried answering, but he looked like he had been caught off guard. Like he himself did not know why anymore. “I can’t… I don’t know.” He nodded off for the briefest moment, eyes dazed. Tired. 

“No!” Morgana jumped closer, pawing at his arm. “Joker! Please, don’t give up now.”

“‘m not…” he cut himself off as the shadow began trying to hurt him. He held it tighter, breathing sharply as its intent became painful.

“Thoughts and memories are good and all that, but… There’s things you can’t solve without practical matters. No matter what one thinks, sometimes reality is the problem. You can’t help him get over his trauma when he’s being abused right now. He can’t go on every single day getting his feelings dismissed and not let it set in. His home is the problem. His school is also the problem. His future is a problem. You just…” He shook his head, apologetic. “Sorry, but you can’t solve this with just words. I’ll keep him down, you guys go. I’ll keep him from destroying this place.”

It was such a rare sight, Joker seemingly lost, unknowing what to do.

“I’m really sorry. It’s not… It’s not your problem.” He looked firmly at them, because if something happened, he had to let them know it was not their fault. “You’re not responsible for whatever happens. It’s not your responsibility to cure him. I know that. I’m really sorry for asking, but I have run out of ideas, and I just want him to get out of his home.” 

The shadow started to claw on the very nice black coat, starting to tear it in its terrified fit of rage. Akira pressed on until he reached skin, and he could draw blood from it. Joker kept trying to talk through it all.

“J-just… any idea of how to make that happen will mean everything.”

It was horrifying to watch. Shadow Akira was mauling his twin’s back with trembling hands, like a trapped animal would try to chew off a leg in order to escape with its life. Joker was holding it close to his chest in a death grip, refusing to let go, keeping him there, because he believed, he thought things would go well for them even if he didn’t have a single evidence of it, even if things have never really been well for them. Even if he was getting destroyed by the shadow in his arms, he didn’t let go. Shadow Akira pleaded with him, sobbed to please, just let him stop believing, stop caring so much about people, about everything, because he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Go.”

They would never really remember how they made their feet obey. Or how they really made their way out when their sight was that blurry, and when everything was really too much to take. But it was probably because it was second nature, obeying Joker’s voice when he issued a command. They still trusted his judgement, because he had never given them reason not to. 

They were barely past the first corridor when Makoto stopped dead on her tracks, her mind still racing insanely fast.

“This is why he never reacted too rudely at Maruki,” she whispered, shaken. 

The group looked at her, all of them shaken to their cores, looking for whatever explanation they could have for that nightmare.

“Akira grew up emotionally abused. He is used to people guilting him into believing he’s not allowed his feelings.” 

Everything made sense, and she wanted to scream at her own stupid self for not just seeing it. 

“That’s why he was so confused, why he was always skittish around Maruki, but never lashed out.” Her voice was trembling, but she had to speak, she had to talk about it aloud and try to logic their way out of that situation. “I mean, we know how much betrayal hurts Akira the most, but, in a way, what Maruki did was worse. I mean, Akechi taunted Akira, openly admitted to betraying him, and mocked us for how idiot we all have been. But Maruki… Maruki never owned it up. He just threw the blame on him, and Akira didn’t know what to do. Because that’s what his parents kept doing to him his whole life. That’s why he said he wanted to try talking to them again, he still thought it was his fault, that he could fix it.

“I knew this fucking doctor was bad news. I just knew it!” Ryuji immediately spoke up, almost spitting out the words.

“I hate to admit it, but you did tell us.” Ann was looking down, trying and failing to stop her tears. “I just hate how Maruki ended up being exactly Akira’s worst nightmares.” And how they didn’t see it.

Makoto shook her head.

“Guys… can’t you see? Maruki did it _because_ he knew it would be the most effective against Akira. He was playing with our weakness all along, why wouldn’t we think he would do the same to Akira? He must have picked up from what Akira talked about his parents. He knew Akira didn’t feel entitled to his feelings, and that he’s always wondering how he failed, why he couldn’t do better.” She clenched her hands in fists. 

She noticed the confused stares of her friends, and continued explaining.

“I’ve read about this, and Akira checks almost all of the symptoms for emotional abuse. He has the complete inability of saying no, he’s terrible at seeing the bad in people even when it’s really necessary, he’s terribly self-conscious. He feels like he can’t trust his own perceptions, so even if he feels something is wrong, he’s thrown off balance if someone says he’s the culprit of it all.” 

“He feels trapped all the time, and the very existence of this room proves that point. He struggles really badly with entrusting his feelings to other people, and that’s exactly why things got so bad in the first place. He’s awfully sensitive about other people controlling him, and it’s what probably made him so resistant to authority, enough that he would become a phantom thief.” 

“He also very easily puts up with demeaning and harmful treatment, as we can see with how he barely twitched as Akechi cursed him to hell and back. How he was more worried about Akechi turning on us because he could try to hurt _us_ , like he tried to murder Akira. He’s always making excuses for the people who hurt him, and he’s so easily guilt tripped into ignoring his own feelings, making him feel like he has to forgive people.” 

He fit so perfectly the profile, it made her feel insanely stupid for not having realised it before.

“Maruki put him through hell, and he still managed to smile at the man. Akechi planned his murder for _months_ , while hanging out with him, and Akira still felt guilty when Akechi died at Shido’s palace, even if it was his own fault for not letting us fight too. He belittles and does not attend to his own struggles.” 

“And he’s terribly self destructive sometimes. Always taking unnecessary risks. And we’ve seen how he never really thinks of himself as deserving of… anything really. He thought Sojiro was right in denying him food or a bath for the night? He doesn’t think people would care for him, or that they should give him their attention or support. I mean, he’s the very portrait of emotional abuse, and I don’t know how we didn’t see it before. For someone as experienced as a therapist as Maruki he must have seen it from miles away, no matter how much Akira hid from him. And he used it against him, as he used all of our insecurities against us.”

“Oh…” Futaba breathed out, her small frame still shaking slightly after everything they heard. “I feel really bad about judging him for not just… telling us what he was feeling. I mean, everything would be fine if he had just talked to us, but… I understand now that it’s really hard for him. Trauma affects everyone in a different way, I guess, and I didn’t… think about that. Akira always looks so in control, it’s hard to think of him as a victim of abuse.”

“That’s probably why. For a long time his feelings were used against him. I understand why he doesn’t want to share them anymore.”

Ryuji kicked a stray pebble, trying to will his voice to work.

“Yeah, and last time he tried to share them was with a therapist, who should be helping, and he was stabbed in the back again, guilt tripped into believing he was being selfish, and left without his friends and without control over his own life. I can kinda see how that did it for him.”

“I don’t know what to do. That book was useless.” Makoto’s shoulders slumped.

“That’s not true, Mako-chan.” Haru put a reassuring hand on her back. “We’d have never understood him if you haven’t read it. And we would end up being really unfair to him, probably. Because I was upset at him as well, for hiding so much from us. Understanding why he did that make it easier for us.”

“Yeah.” Futaba spoke up, in that small voice of hers when she cried too much. “I mean, I know it’s not our responsibility to cure him, we’re not professionals, but… knowing what’s happening to him is important so we can try and be considerate. All the way here I had half a mind of yelling at him for not talking to us about what was upsetting him. And now I know that would be kind of unfair and really unhelpful.”

“We know it now,” Morgana said, trying to comfort them somehow. “We also know how deep down he had always wanted to tell us, but it was just this extra hard for him to do it. I mean, even here, it’s not like a miracle happened, we had to basically wrestle with every one of those shadows to get them talking to us. We had to convince him we really didn’t mean any harm.” There was no materialization of his distorted desires. That was his heart, and all of his pain and trauma. They couldn’t take that away, they could just help him deal with it, help him rebuild himself from these ruins they saw. “We could’ve solved this ages ago if we had just knew how to ask things out of him”

“As you said, we know it now.” Makoto shook her head, trying to gather her wits again. “We won’t let him die, and we will think of something to get him out of his house. We can’t give up now.”

“Yeah.” Futaba shakily added, trying to hold herself higher. “We… We’ve fought worse odds.”

“Let’s go see the crying shadow,” Morgana said, trying to sound reassured.

“Joker seemed really worried about time.” Makoto frowned. "Do you think we can really afford to visit the last shadow? It shouldn’t have any memories.”

“Yeah, but we really should free it before leaving. Every moment he spends repressing the need to cry is taking its toll on him. I’m scared that if we don’t take this chance now, he might get stuck there. Even asleep, if he could just cry, I think his condition might improve. It’s just tearing him apart, not having an outlet for his emotions.”

“We just have to be quick.” Futaba nodded.

They made their way back to the central hall, and it felt like a lifetime away when they saw it last. The elegant table was still there, and the girl in blue kept her ramrod posture. The only telltale was the way her small hands tightly held her book, and an anxious aura around her. 

She nodded as they passed, but didn’t encourage conversation. She looked antsy.

  
  


That last shadow was shivering, clearly drained by the freezing temperature of the room. 

But even the shadow who still knew how to cry just didn’t cry easily. It looked at them behind the bars, an indecipherable look on its grey eyes. Had he ever cried in front of anyone before?

It was tearing them apart, looking at his stoic expression.

Akira got emotional at silly movies. He was friends with Haru because he was the kind of person who'd get mad at you for stepping on flowers because what if they had feelings? He cried at the movie theater. He sniffled reading books about brave people who didn't deserve the bad hand they got in life. 

But he didn't have a single tear to cry for himself anymore. 

A lock fell and the crying shadow was free. It didn’t move. They didn’t dare enter yet.

Even his most haunted shadow, hidden so far away from the surface, was all hallowed eyes and silence. There was terror, and trauma, but there weren't tears. He held himself with a blank expression. Even this deep into his heart, he was too afraid to show weakness. He was broken to the point he couldn't cry. He didn’t even seem much up to talking, and they looked between themselves briefly.

“It was really too much to ask for Akira to just talk to us, I guess.” Morgana sighed.

“Wait, what did that shadow say? That we went away…” Makoto frowned, trying to think of a way out, fast.

“I think it’s probably about how easily we let him go?” Haru offered, with a defeated voice.

Yusuke sighed heavily, trying to keep himself together.

"I have been thinking about this, these past months. We were... very immature in our decisions. We had just learned how strong bonds can very well change the entire world, and we let go of them. At our final moments together, we were quick to say our heists were something of the past, and how everyone would walk in their separate ways. We didn't make plans to meet up. We didn't promise to stay friends. We didn't promise we'd check up on each other, because technology is here to bridge distances and we could talk everyday. We were just desperate to make something big again, and we... we parted in such a bad way." 

Futaba sniffled, trying to stop crying.

“I even said to him I didn’t need him anymore. I-I didn’t mean it like that, but…” 

“Our goodbyes might have left a deep impression on him,” Makoto concluded. “We should have said we were going to miss him, or that we could go see him if he wanted. That it wasn’t a goodbye.” 

They were silent for a moment, before Ryuji blinked and piped up.

“Huh. I kinda did that?”

“What?”

“When he was saying his goodbyes and he went to see me… I told him I just couldn’t imagine going to school without him. And I promised I’d go see him in his hometown, whenever he wanted.” He messed up his own hair, embarrassed. “I just… I dunno, I couldn’t do it if I didn’t have something to hold onto I guess? I know I should’ve been reassuring him and stuff, I know he feels responsible for us and all… It was a bit selfish, but I couldn’t hide it, I guess. You guys know I’m not good with that stuff.” That, and he had felt a little too much like crying, so he had to say aloud that they’d meet again, and soon. That he’d be there, whenever Akira wanted. No matter how far it was, or how little money he had, he’d go. 

“It’s great, Ryuji!” Makoto exclaimed.

“Huh, it is?”

“Yes! It’s just a theory, but, with everything we saw here, I’d say he sees crying as something only hopeful people do. Because he believes it doesn’t change anything, and there’s no point about it. So, you could probably appeal to that shadow talking about something it wishes for, like your promise about going to see him. And it’s particularly important, seeing as one of the things he struggles with the most is not knowing where he stands with us.”

It made sense. Or not really, Ryuji was never sure with those metaverse stuff, but they all trusted Makoto. Her ideas tended to work.

He approached the cell, entering it a bit uncertain. The shadow was sitting on the metal cot, and its eyes followed his movements quietly. Ryuji bent down a bit, resting his hands on his knees and looking at him in the eyes, figuring it wouldn’t be good if he stood up and loomed over it. He could sit down, but he felt a bit awkward about just barging in and sitting so close. He really didn't want to mess that up.

“Hey, man. Huh… D’you think it’d be cool if I visited you? Like, tomorrow or something?”

Grey eyes widened, and pale hands gripped the cold metal of the seat. 

Ryuji peered behind black strands of hair, looking concerningly at his friend. 

“Huh… Aki?” he called, worried at the lack of an answer. Fat tears pooled in those grey eyes, and his lips trembled slightly. Ryuji flailed internally, kicking himself for whatever he said to earn that reaction. He desperately tried to think of some way to make it better, but he came out empty of words. He swallowed heavily, and while he was still trying of think of something to say, his hand was moving, and he tucked a black curl behind Akira’s ear. “Say something, please?” he pleaded, because he really didn’t know what to do.

Akira’s breathing crumbled, and the tears started rolling down his cheeks.

He was sobbing then. 

“Aki, what-”

His words were cut in by the heavy impact of the shadow throwing its weight on him in a desperate hug.

“It doesn’t matter.” He clearly didn’t even believe Ryuji’s promise to go see him, but he wanted to hear it even so. “Hold me. Please.” 

“Aki, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care.” He shook his head, face still buried in his best friend’s chest. “It’s fine, it’s all fine, just let me have this now. Now it’s enough. Now is all everyone has anyway.” 

“Aki, listen-”

But the shadow didn’t want to know, there’s nothing good left to be known, he just wanted to be soothed this one time. “I'll do anything, I’ll go after people, I’ll live with my father however long I have left, anything. Just let me have this now.” He hurt so much he could barely breathe, and the weight of what he was doing to his own heart was excruciating. He needed something, anything, just this little bit of kindness in his life to keep going.

His face cracked next to his jaw, like a porcelain doll. Small spiderwebbed marks, pain etched on an empty glass. 

He had so much to cry about, he had been through so much, and that small piece of him was trying to hold onto all of his grief. A grief he had been trying so hard to repress, to pretend it didn’t exist. Everything about that shadow was telling words not to be told. 

The shadow Akira was trying so hard to hide, to get rid of.

“Aki, talk to me, what’s wrong?” It was a knee jerk reaction to just hold him tight and let him bury his cold face into the warm curve of his neck. They were always into each other’s space, and his body just moved. Any time Akira reached out, Ryuji was ready to catch him, even before he could think. 

Maybe that’s why Akira had reached out, because somehow he believed in that too.

“There are days in which I think there’s no way out of this,” he confessed, face still buried in the gentle curve of his best friend’s neck, too ashamed to look up. “That this is all my life will ever be. This loneliness and despair. Every good thing that I had amounts to some memories that can’t reach me now.” 

Ryuji pulled him away enough to hold him by his bony shoulders and stare into his eyes.

“Akira, listen to me.” His voice was trembling under the onslaught of emotions of seeing his best friend crying his heart out like that. “This isn’t normal.” Akira’s grey eyes were glistening with tears. “Your dad’s a fucker who's clearly abusing you, and we need to get you out, ok? We’ll get you out.”

“But…” the word barely fit the shadow’s raw throat. It was still trying not to cry. 

“It doesn't matter how. We’re getting you out, okay? Trust us.” 

Akira could barely breathe past his own relief. It felt a little like the world had tilted on its axis, because he had never heard anyone acknowledging that his father was in the wrong. That Akira was right, he didn’t deserve this, and he could feel… scared, hurt, angry even. 

"I... You ended up promising me you'd come to see me whenever I wanted. You said if I called, you'd come,” he whispered, in a barely there voice. “I wanted to ask you to come right away." 

His voice cracked, and he could barely deliver the words. The confession was so small, and sounded so guilty. How dared he, to be so selfish, so weak.

"Please, listen to me.” The blond held him to his chest tightly, feeling his body trembling slightly every time Akira sobbed. It sounded awful, those small sounds he made, and it was just this worse knowing he had every reason to cry like that. “When I said I'd go anytime, that was true. When I said I was going to move away, I was thinking of you. I... was actually planning to study my ass off and then ask you what college you'd be going, check if it would coincide with what I was looking for. Convince you to come back to Tokyo to study, cuz I figured your parents would think university here was better. And, even if we didn’t go to the same university, we wouldn’t be that far. Then... I'd confess to you after our entrance exams." 

It sounded so stupid. The shadow was right. What did anyone have besides now? The one time Ryuji tried thinking ahead and, look, where it got him.

The shadow barely acknowledged his words, gripping the back of his shirt with shaky hands. 

"I'm sorry. The way I said it... could've looked like I didn't care about you. That I thought our group was gone. I never did. I'm so dumb. I should have said what I meant at Valentines. I just... wanted to make things right once in my life. Think things over so... so I could have something to offer you. To show you I was serious about you. To have something so you could rely on me. I meant what I said back then. There will always, fucking forever, be a place for you in this world, right by my side." 

That earned him a heart wrenching and very quiet sob, and the shadow started to cry in earnest all over again. It didn’t have memories, just feelings, and it felt terrified and alone. It wanted that place, and something to believe in. But the most it could really accept was a small comfort, something that was already too good to be true.

“I miss you.” Akira’s voice was thick, and it still sounded muffled against the blond’s shoulder. “I miss every one of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that. I miss each one of you, every day,” he confessed in an emotional tone he never really let himself use, because it was so vulnerable, to let people understand how much he cared.

The group took the words as a permission to come closer, and they stepped into the cell fully.

Its cell didn’t feel as the others, heavy with something lurking in the dark. No memory.

They settled around him in a loose circle that was achingly familiar. How many times had they stood like that, and planned their heists, and leaned on each other as the world crumbled outside?

The shadow shyly looked up, face still partially hidden by Ryuji’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry you had all of this work to get here, but... It’s over for me.” 

“It’s not over!” Ann immediately argued back, with a small tremble to her voice, but with fierceness in her eyes. “We will be saving every last one of you, and Akira will be okay.”

The shadow shook its head, letting go of the grip it had on the blond and stepping back, seemingly remembering its place.

“I’m not useful. I’m a liability. I should be gone.” 

Futaba stepped closer, standing in front of him. 

“Come on, big bro. You know it’s not true.” She looked frail, but sounded certain. She knew what she was doing, they realised. They just forgot, sometimes, that Futaba was a genius child who had been reading about psychology and neuroscience from an early age. She had seen therapists, even if she had been too closed off to really let them help. But she knew a few things.

“If it were me, crying because of something my uncle did, would I be weak?”

“No!” Akira looked a bit ill even considering the idea. He clearly hated thinking of her in that situation. 

Well, tough luck, because she also hated seeing him doing that to himself.

“C’mon, big bro. Is crying a liability in itself? Is crying because you’re sad wrong? Think of me.”

“No…”

“You’re smart, now tell me.” She offered her hands, palms up. “Why are you telling yourself crying is a weakness?”

The shadow took her hands in its icy hold. It needed a second, but only to gather the words. Akira knew it, deep down.

“Because I’m shifting the blame to myself, like I’ve been conditioned to do.”

“There you go.”

Her voice was so gentle it hurt to hear, and he teared up all over again. 

“Akira, I know it doesn’t feel this way now, but… What happened is not a shame for you. It’s shameful of him for having done that, but you have nothing to be ashamed for. You did nothing wrong, I promise you. We will get you out of there. No one deserves to live like that.”

Akira looked up and he seemed so heartbreakingly unsure. 

“I know how that feels. I know how it’s like to be so afraid and have nowhere to run,” Ryuji added, a hand on the shadow’s back. “But I promise, Aki, someday, things get better, even if it looks like it won’t.” 

“Yeah.” Futaba looked up to look him in the eye, and it was good, being strong for Akira, for once. “ See, now I have Sojiro, and all of you guys, and… It’s good. It’s wonderful not being afraid anymore.”

His breath hitched, and he clenched his hands tightly. He wanted to believe in that, so badly. But when. When were things going to get better. He couldn’t… He couldn’t do it anymore. He had held onto hope, but… 

“Do you think… sometimes I wonder if… I don’t know. Do you think I would be… less ruthless if things hadn’t been like this for me? Do you think I’d be gentler? Or everything that happened made me stronger?”

Futaba shook her head.

“Not everything in life is about strength. But… you’re strong, Akira. And you’re gentle, and compassionate. What happened to you can never be your fault, but how you reacted to it is entirely your credit. Those people who hurt you and made you feel so scared… they’re in the wrong, Akira. Even if you turned out to be a good person, it doesn’t justify anything. You shouldn’t have to go through it. And I don’t know why bad things happen to people, but I know that everything is a choice, and you choose to be gentle, despite everything. If you weren’t abused, I still think you’d be this good, and this gentle. It doesn’t have to hurt to make you a better person.”

She paused, because she knew what that was about and she needed a second to compose herself.

“You won’t feel like this forever, Akira, I promise.”

A few tears slipped down his cheeks, and he felt absolutely lost. Every part of him ached to believe in that, but he was so tired. He pulled away and sat down on the metal cot, burying his face on his trembling hands. He didn’t know. He was just a very strong emotion. He was just the very human instinct of crying. He couldn’t convince Akira of anything. He was more of a part of his soul than anything else. 

“I’m so tired.” He leaned his back on the wall. The shadow’s eyes fluttered close.

“Hey. Aki, please talk to me.” 

Whatever tiny amount of energy that had been left on him seemed gone, and the shadow couldn't talk anymore.

Ryuji moved to stop the shadow from falling over, kneeling on the cold floor, one hand gently cradling a lolling head. The shadow hugged him back, with failing strength and drowsy serenity. 

“Aki!” 

“Akira!” 

The shadow’s eyes were closed, and it didn’t answer. Ryuji pulled away and went to try and shake it awake, but the sound of metal clinking, and quiet footsteps echoed around the room, and all of them whipped around to look.

There was someone else in there. 

The shadow stopped breathing entirely, and a sudden nothingness echoed in the velvet room with its new visitant. It felt like all of the other shadows were just gone, and all of the energy of the room concentrated on the figure standing there. 

“What is happening here?”

Jet black curls, and a thin torso, dressed simply in a black long sleeved shirt and grey sweatpants. 

“What is this shadow doing outside a cell?”

“Wait wasn’t this the last one? How another shadow showed up?”

It was Morgana who delivered the information.

“No, guys. He’s the real one.”

It was jarring, seeing real Akira again. He did feel different from the shadows. More solid. Less easily read. Composed, like someone who had the privilege of hiding his feelings and appearing in control. 

Akira sighed, looking around and locking his eyes with the young girl in blue uniform.

"What's happening here, Lavenza?” He sounded more tired than interested. 

"When you left... you asked me if I would guide you again.” She saw hurt flashing on his eyes, before it was completely gone. Blank. Careful. Desperate to just stop being hurt, and stop remembering painful things. “You wanted me to. But I said you didn't need me anymore. You looked sad, so I promised something, don't you remember?" 

"You promised to look over me." His voice was a bit hoarse, and just this bit unbelieving. He probably thought she had completely abandoned him. Considering she could have visited him anytime she wanted, it was probably a fair assumption. 

“Yes. I couldn’t let you die.” She looked down at her polished shoes. She didn’t know humans. Months went by unnoticed by her, who’d live forever. 

But she kept her word, and she kept an eye out for him. When she realised what was going to happen, she just knew she had to do something. If there was a human she wanted to save it was him.

He was selfless and brave, and so bright. He gave off hope like an evening star, and it was beautiful to watch, but now, at the edge of the end, they all felt the same sinking feeling looking at him. 

He was too bright. His light existed by burning his own heart off, by consuming him entirely. He was a collapsing star, burning the brightest now at his very end. He didn't have anything more to give, and he would die engulfed in darkness. 

“Why are you here now?” Makoto finally asked. “I thought you couldn’t access this place anymore.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” He turned to look at them with a small tilt to his head. 

“What does it mean, Akira?” Morgana’s voice was too panicked for him to even pretend he didn’t know what that meant. Akira smiled at him indulgently, and answered anyway.

“Time’s up, guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, very dark tones, but let’s get to it. Akira is clearly conditioned to silence. There is being the quiet kid and there is him hiding every single emotion like someone will use it against him somehow. His obsession with weaknesses, the whole trying to please people (the shape shifter who doesn’t know what else he should be, except what people draw him to be). And there’s his visceral reaction to sexual abuse. I wanted to take into consideration a specific moment of the manga. In mementos, Akira was really shaken hearing that the woman knew her daughter was being abused by her husband, but she didn’t do anything. How she just pretended she didn’t see. Ryuji, in the background, was looking at Akira with a grim expression, and he put a hand on Akira’s shoulder to comfort him. But Akira was clearly shaken in a way he usually isn’t, his expression grim, so yeah, the case hit too close to home for him. It also makes sense considering the other aspects of his character, so it’s here, despite this fic not following the manga. He’s the portrait of emotional abuse, and he has those very strong and personal reactions about sexual abuse, and parents looking the other way about it. 
> 
> Kamoshida flat out broke a student’s leg, and Akira was ready to die for said student but he hesitated about changing his heart in fear of killing him. When Ann told him how Kamoshida was threatening her? We have that cutscene of him gripping on his slacks, and it's the most emotional we have ever seen him being in game. He's upset about her jumping off the roof, but we have him really reacting when Kamoshida tells them she was just an easy bitch, and it was her own fault. Akira decides the risk is worth taking. 
> 
> I wanted to consider those points besides the whole ‘Akira’s parents never calling him, but he also feels like he has to talk it over with them again’ (it’s explicitly said in the animation, in the end), and how the perfect reality features him staying with Sojiro forever. He feels like he owes something to his parents, there’s abuse there that he does't realise, and by the end he still thinks it’s his fault and he can fix it. Besides, it’s so very odd how taken Akira was with Sojiro. Sojiro is nice enough, but he isn’t the role model for a kid simply lacking attention. He cares at a distance, and he doesn’t talk much, and he doesn’t even express his affection that much. At the beginning he’s outright cold and even cruel with his words. But, since the beginning he has some points on his favour. He never, ever comes too close, and he can sound harsh, but he never tries to manipulate people. And then I just thought, hey, how is he the ideal parental figure for Akira? What kid would wish so badly for someone exactly like him? Also, about his feelings. He hides all of them with an almost pathological fear. But there are feelings he just refuses to have. We have this line in Rivers in the Desert, exactly about that “gotta clear my head of anger and greed”. He always steers clear away from those two. And, he should be angry about lots of things but he avoids it entirely. Why anger? He allows sadness, and quietness, indignation. But he’s never out of control, and he’s never angry. 
> 
> Maruki listened to the thieves and used their feelings against them. During the final battle, he kept guilt tripping Ryuji saying things like ‘don’t you want to make things better for your mother? Be a good son?’, or for Futaba, and Makoto, if they didn’t want their parents back. So, it’d make sense if how he acted towards Akira was targeting his weakness. Maruki’s whole plan was to make Akira feel guilty. If Akira disagreed, he was being cruel, Maruki would make that face like he was the only one suffering in the world, and he’d do all that awful stuff and ask Akira to don't hate him. He knows he’d done things that warrant hatred, but he makes Akira feel guilty about feeling negatively towards him. That wouldn’t work on just anyone. You need someone who'd been shamed like that, you need a fear of being wrong about how one felt, rooted deep. Someone who is used to the whole victim blaming thing. So, it all falls into place. Akira’s hiding his feelings, and measuring his words, and refusing to share his secrets. Akira immediately acting like it’s his job to guide an adult, to give them advice, and being held accountable for it. Akira being able to connect intimately with every one of the thieves, in a very specific way, like he understood it deeply. 
> 
> Also, I hoped that everyone out there who, too, can’t feel safe at home, would know they’re not alone in this. We will all get out. 
> 
> About Joker and shadow Akira’s last interaction. Ptsd and trauma and lots of things are an obstacle, but it was also something that's put there in a desperate attempt at surviving? I think, at his lowest, Akira’s rebellion could start to really hurt to bear, and part of him would want to stop caring so damn much about everything.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! There were some complications about this chapter, but the comments and kudos on the last chapter really pulled me through. Thank you so much everyone who commented and/or left kudos. This chapter is normal sized! I hope you can all enjoy it.

The red light of the alarm was still flashing, the eerie sound of it echoing hauntingly in the silence that followed his words. 

“What do you mean ‘time’s up’?” Ann asked, voice shaking. 

Akira sighed, sitting on top of the elegant table with a tired slump to his shoulders.

“That means I don’t have enough energy to go back to my body.” His fingers traced the shiny wooden surface. “I should die eventually. Same business as when we disappeared in Shibuya. This is the last stop before death, I guess. Somewhere in between.”

"What happens now?" Haru's shaky voice asked.

"I thought you all knew. You can't save people. They save themselves. With help, sometimes, but the last step, that's always on their own." He paused, looking at the stones lined up on the floor.

"Maybe if... if this had happened before. If there was enough time. Then, you could have just... changed my cognition and looked for me later, and we would talk and my heart would get stronger, and I'd heal just fine." If it had happened before. If life had been just a little bit different. 

"But as it is, I couldn't talk to you, and you couldn't ask, and we're all here now. Now I'm in my velvet room. As it happens when I get here without meaning to, I should remember this all as dreams. There's just no way to connect these memories to my physical body if I don't wake up. And I know I won't, not like this. I ended up here because my connection to my body is almost gone. It might be because I played around with bits of my soul and tortured Arsene, and all those that followed after him. They should've been the strength of my heart, but I locked them up and punished them, exactly as I did with all the painful memories I had. It's really no wonder I managed to sever the connection to my soul." 

“You knew it,” Futaba whispered, staring at him. “You knew what was happening. You knew you were dying.”

Akira didn’t answer her, because they both knew it wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“For how long would you have kept this from us?” 

He looked away, turning over her question on his head. He needed a moment to answer. There was something achingly sad, but firm in his eyes as he replied. 

"I don't know. As long as I stand I guess. Forever, if I had managed the strength to do so." His voice is quiet, but he looks straight at them, truthful. Stoic in his last stand. 

"Why?" 

He sighed, and it was filled with so much grief it felt like he was trying to carry the weight of the world. He had carried that, for them. He shouldered what they didn't want to. He shouldered what he shouldn’t have had to. 

And he'd do it again, and again, until he finally ran out of breath. Until he finally burned out, extinguished like a dying star. 

But they didn’t want to live without his light. For someone freezing inside his own heart, he radiated warmth. 

“It's fine.”

He said quietly, staring off the distance. There was nothing fine here. Things couldn't be farther from fine, but he felt like they were. 

“I... Maybe I tried too hard. I have always been somewhat of an overachiever.” 

He gave a half smile, and they could see their leader in it. 

“I tried too hard, and maybe that wasn't the answer. I tried everything I could think of, and, honestly, I've always somewhat believed that if I tried hard enough I could learn anything, and do anything.” It was his greatest quality, really. But, for the life of him, he just couldn’t see what else to do. He didn’t know how to get out of the situation he was in.

“But now, in the end, it wasn't enough, so maybe I couldn't think of the only solution to this problem. But I did my honest best, and I don't have more than that in me to offer. I'd do anything, and give anything. But I can't figure out what is missing. I can't bring myself to a happy ending, no matter what I do. The very last thing I haven't done yet is giving up. Honestly giving up. No more tricks, no more hopes.” 

And it was weird, how even in giving up, he was just doing it just to see if something changed. Akira had always been that stubborn, and that committed to just destroying the status quo. 

He paused for a moment, looking up at the blue tinted ceiling.

“Sometimes I wonder where people go when everything ends. Shadows dissolve to nothing, and I have always been more shadow than human, so... maybe…” 

“You know, this whole thing might have been a mistake,” he continued, still perched on the elegant table in the center of the room, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “There has to be something fucked up with someone to have all of these personas. It's not right. I shouldn't be here.” 

The last of his words were really quiet, and it was unclear if he intended for anyone else to hear it. He looked down at the blue tapestry on the floor.

“I heard that there has been a wild card who didn't survive past his mission.” He had wondered, sometimes. If there were such things as the impossibility of being saved. If there was something about being the wild card that marked him with a fate he couldn’t escape. If it had been lonely. “I wish I could talk to him.” 

He finally looked up at them, and whatever he saw in their faces, made him smile, and then laugh suddenly, and it was genuine. 

“Don't look like that. I'm sure it won't happen to me. It would be too easy. Lavenza might be right that I will die soon, but I'm sure I still have some weeks,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe months, who knows? It would be too naive to imagine I would have an easy way out of this. Vanishing like a shadow, dying a quick death. It's not fitting for how things usually go for me, but that's alright. I'll try a few different things in the next few days. Maybe visit some clubs. I could have piercings. I have never swam at night, maybe I could go to a lake and do just that.” 

It was depressing, but he didn't seem bothered.. 

He smiled a lot when he was sad, he laughed at heartbreaking things and his expression was blank at executing Arsene or trapping one part of him inside a tiny cell to torture for a few days. He was so out of contact with his emotions his reactions became stunted. Defective, all over the place. 

He sighed at the terror on his friends’ faces.

“You did great. It’s just that sometimes it’s not enough, but it’s not your fault. I’m grateful. I feel lighter. It’s gonna be okay.”

It wasn’t. Not even one of them had yet found words to say to their friend, hearts still frozen in fear inside their chests. Things were as far from okay as they could get. They couldn’t… they couldn’t just let him die. They couldn’t fail at the one mission that mattered the most. 

They stood by that boy at the sunset in the end of the world. They were together when everything failed. They saw him refuse to go down, how not even erasing him from fucking existence could stop him from believing, could cut down his right to stand on the edge of the end and refuse. To lift a gunbarrel with thin arms and unwavering heart, and not care how infinitely ridiculous their chances were. Just plainly stand by his own choices and tell the world it was wrong. They saw him cast away lies and platitudes, accept punches he never deserved, risk everything so they could be who they chose to be, after life dragged them to the ground, but after he gave his everything to help them be strong and happy and so damn free even death would tremble to take them. 

He made them unable to know when to quit as well, he made them feel the bone crushing need to rebel against the unfairness of it all, so, honestly, how could he even think they would lay down now and let him die?

“We’re not letting it end like this.” Morgana’s voice was, in the end, the tipping point. 

Not even one of them was going to let that happen. 

Akira had forgotten how bright the blue flames of their rebellion were.

When he could actually see past the white dots flashing on his eyes, his team stood there in their phantom outfits. 

"It's about non acceptance,” he started, slowly making sense of it. “You accepted me, and my memories until now, so you wouldn't have your thief outfit by then. But now you all found something to rebel against." 

"Your death." 

"Yes." 

“I’ve faced death before. Countless times.” With them, and without them, he had risked his life over and over. He almost died being interrogated. He almost died being punched to death with an insane drop of height looming under his feet. He had been almost executed in that same room. “But nothing felt quite like this. I could’ve died many times before. At a Palace. At the interrogation room. At the end of the world, and a fake God looming over us. At that ridiculous lab Maruki made.” His voice shook slightly. 

And that was the thing. He had never feared death, but he had never wanted to die. He just… didn’t think there was a real reason why things would be better after he was dead. It just didn’t make sense. What kind of guarantee would he have that things wouldn’t just be worse? And if there was nothing waiting for him, what was even the point? Whatever he did was better than nothing. He had stared at death in the face, and decided he just couldn’t bear the thought of going down when there were such fucked up people in power who were just going to keep going. 

But now, his body was just… shutting down on him.

“I had been scared before, but it’s not how fear feels like now. I’m afraid of things I can’t talk aloud, in ways I could talk aloud about the metaverse. I’m scared in my own home. I’m dying slowly, and a meaningless death.” There was something tight in his expression. 

"We're going to find a way." Morgana was dead set on it.

Joker lived and breathed inside of that boy. He was their leader, and even then, he was thinking of a way out. It wasn’t a rebellion like theirs, but it was an open mind, and a little bit of hope.

A hope they’ve sown on his heart, with caring words and gentle hands. 

"Maybe..." 

"We'd do anything for you." Morgana was by his side immediately. He jumped on the table silently, standing by him like always. 

"We need something that makes sense to me, something I know for sure that makes a difference." 

"What are you getting at?" Ann asked, anxiously. She hadn’t the best understanding of all the metaverse stuff, but she had been around long enough to know she should worry. 

"You won't like it." 

"What is it?" Ryuji pressed, nervously, also hating being kept in the dark. 

"Well, technically, I know how... feelings, how having faith in someone can bring forward good things.” Akira was looking thoughtfully at the smooth surface of Igor’s table. “Light. Healing. Repentance and eventually forgiveness. I, more than anyone, know that you can defy all of the odds if you throw all of your creed at them." 

"Oh, no," Makoto breathed out.

"What?” Ryuji whipped his head to look at her. “Makoto, seriously, please, if you don't explain things like, right now, I'm gonna lose it."

"He wants us to concentrate all of our faith in him and then he plans to... shoot himself with it.” Makoto looked up at their leader, finding him nodding with something like admiration for her having caught up so quickly. “The shock should be enough to send him toppling back to his body with his cognition changed." 

"What the heck, man!" Ryuji gasped out, eyes wide.

"There's no time. You will have to send a bit of energy with it too, so I can wake up. I should... still remember the feelings my shadows had here. I don't know what you all did, but I know I... feel lighter. I feel like I can open up to you, like I couldn't before. My memories... I can think about them. I don't feel like they will overwhelm me anymore. But I have to bring this feeling back to my physical body." 

"And it has to be something your cognition knows that can defy fate itself.” Morgana was looking down at the ground, an anxious, but resigned look on his face. “That's why the faith, and the shoot. Like Yaldabaoth."

"Yes."

"Pleas- fine.” Ryuji cut off his own protests when he noticed the stony faces of his friends. He somewhat got that they had no other choice, but goddamnit, why were they always caught in those horrible situations? “But it's damn morbid, that's what this is." 

Akira’s eyes glinted with humour, and an amused grin was upon his lips.

"What can I say? It's my aesthetics." 

"That's so not funny." 

"I thought you liked my jokes." 

"I like you, there's a difference" 

"Oh.” The smirk fell from Akira’s face, and his face flushed. “Say that again when I'm awake?" he asked, tentatively.

"Anytime, bro." 

Makoto cut their silly conversation short.

“But, how are you going to get a gun here?”

Akira paused, looking at her.

“Well, now I’m consciously here again, I could summon a persona and sacrifice it, I guess.”

“You won’t survive another execution,” Lavenza immediately shot down that train of thought. “Not now. Your heart is better, you could almost do one, but… your heart needs a bit of time to absorb the changes that happened here today.”

Futaba bit her lip, furrowing her brow in concentration.

“And what if he didn’t use his own energy? Like when we were battling the fake god, we were at our limit, but when people started giving us their energy, we could stand up again. And Akira summoned Satanael, using that energy.”

Akira shook his head.

“What I did with Yaldabaoth still used a bit of me. I yanked on Arsene’s chains to release Satanael, even if Satanael isn’t exactly mine. He is, but I could only call on him in that form under those specific conditions. For a moment there, Yaldabaoth thought I had failed to harness the power.” 

“Wait.” Makoto stopped pacing. “By the end, you gathered everyone’s strength, and you shot the fake God at the same time as Satanael, why?”

“He was… very powerful.” Akira hesitated, trying to convey the extreme presence that persona had. The incredible spike of power thrumming on his hands. “There was a reason Yaldaboth thought I had failed. I couldn’t order Satanael, but since I held everyone’s desire of free will in me, I could… shelter him in my heart, and… You know that, I am thou. Thou art I. I could make him move, not ordering him like I did with other personas, but by moving myself, and he would move as I did. I had the power in my hand, and he could only shoot it if I did it as well. We were one. By the end, my old tokarev materialized for me, after I absorbed all of people’s hope, and I shot Yaldabaoth with it, and Satanael mirrored me.” 

“Let’s backtrack a bit. As far as I’m understanding, you were correct, and the whole point of your persona’s executions were about your feelings being infused in the material you offered.” Futaba crossed her arms, a familiar and very intense look of concentration on her eyes.

The girl nodded.

“Lavenza dono, could we replicate this process? Concentrate our energy in a focal point and have it materialize as the person wielding that power interprets this at?” Morgana asked.

“Technically, it’s possible. You have all very strong feelings about this, and your heart is very set on it. We usually used something material as a base, but since you won’t be using it in the metaverse, it shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t really need material things to make things work inside here.”

“Oh! As my jacket!” Futaba exclaimed.

“Exactly. Here is the precise frontier between mind and matter. They’re the same, but I believe humans aren’t quite ready yet to understand that concept fully.”

“Well, we don’t need to understand it fully, I guess…” Makoto started, thoughtful. “But I’m starting to see your point.” Makoto rested a knuckle upon her own lips, thoughtful. “Akira used physical objects as a base because the metaverse was the cognitive world brought into a physical state, and we could bring objects inside.”

Futaba seemed to get exactly what she was saying, for her eyes widened, and she immediately picked up where Makoto left. 

“Yes! It was a material world, and we couldn’t create matter. But since it was a cognition world, we could change how that matter was perceived. The way those objects worked changed according to cognition, because it was a cognitive world. That being the case, Akira needed them to be real because the metaverse was a material world. But the functionality of them varied according to the cognition, so Akira could make sacrifices and use his feelings and his own cognition to make them be perceived as strong weapons in the metaverse.”

“Precisely.”

“But, here…” Makoto continued. “We’re between mind and matter, and while you’re right and I don’t understand exactly how they can be one and the same… I know we can replicate what happened during our battle with Yaldabaoth. This knowledge should be enough. We don’t need the physical object, if we concentrate on that moment, we can focus our strength and hope into Akira’s hand and it will materialize as his gun, because it is how he perceives it. He sees strength and hope as a weapon to make things right.”

“You’re correct!” Lavenza seemed pleased with their understanding of such complicated matters. 

“If we do this, will he remember everything?” Morgana asked, worriedly. “Will this restore the link between his soul and body?

“Yes, it will.” Lavenza hesitated for a moment, but continued. “I must warn you that he’s cutting it dangerously close, and his health won’t be at its best for a few weeks at least. He will be sent back immediately, so the backslash will be quite something. He won’t look fine all of a sudden, since his soul will be literally getting used to his body again. What you talked to his shadows here should come to him bit by bit on the next days, as his soul settles back. The more he gets a hold of his own body the better he will remember what his soul felt here.” 

Morgana nodded, relieved.

“So… his heart was healed enough, and we will repair the link to his soul. He should make a full recovery, heart and mind, then?”

“Yes. But… I must warn you that you’ll remain with Yaldabaoth’s dilemma. He might not be strong enough to harness the power.”

“We don’t really have a choice, at this point.”

“Sorry, I lost track of the explanation halfway through,” Ann piped up with a shaking voice. She had tried, honestly, but it was too much in too little time.

“I was too nervous to even try to follow it.” Ryuji ran a shaky hand through his own hair, pulling it a little. He had barely heard a thing since Akira proposed to shoot himself. The blond felt physically sick at the thought, and he just couldn’t focus on the lengthy explanation while his stomach was tied in knots in worry of losing Akira. 

“You just have to focus on Akira, and wish for him to live,” Morgana summarized it. He could feel it was the truth, since he was attuned to those matters, but even he couldn’t explain it as well as Makoto and Futaba could. But the cat was familiar with their team’s dynamics and he knew what would work. “Asides Futaba and Makoto, Yusuke, sometimes, the rest of you were always better with gut feelings anyway. You’ll do better if you just do what feels right.”

“That’s a relief, I was getting nervous and started second guessing myself.” Haru let out a deep sigh, her hand still over her racing heart. She was more confident in her feelings than with all those hard facts.

“I think I got the gist of it, but it is still quite nerve wracking.” The artist had a pinched expression on his elegant features.

“We can do this!” Morgana shouted excitedly, trying to infuse hope into their hearts, as it was his calling.

Akira smiled down at the cat, and jumped off the table, standing there and facing his friends.

“Okay. I’m ready when you are.”

He watched as his friends closed their eyes and started concentrating. He closed his as well, attuning himself to the sudden influx of energy, rising steadily. Soon, it was coming for him, and he breathed it in, and tried to hold it close.

His heart was thundering inside his chest, and the sudden warmth flooding his heart burned a little, with how cold it had been before. It was reassuring and bright, oh, so bright, his senses could barely keep up with the feeling. It also hurt, like taking a breath after too long underwater, or screaming at the top of his lungs. It hurt like healing hurt. It was like drinking water after a nightmare, it hurt his throat and it showed how raw it was, but it was soothing in a way. 

But soon, the sensation changed as the energy started skyrocketing, too much of it in a spike of potential that was alive and untamed. It hurt like breathing too much or too little during a panic attack, and like burning. Like holding ice for too long, like when the wind was too strong to keep your eyes open. It hurt like being zapped hurt, deep into his bones like radiation poisoning. 

Something solid had settled on the palm of his hand. 

It hurt like a curse, and he couldn’t hold onto it.

He collapsed on his side, going eerily still. 

The whole room was suddenly devoid of life, its empty halls unnaturally silent, like being plummeted underwater. 

The alarm went off. Gone was the slight thrum of energy they have been feeling. The dim lights flickered. 

Lavenza looked frantic, light hair swishing as she kneeled next to her trickster. 

“His heart is not beating right in his physical body!” 

“What do we do?!” Ryuji was yelling back, in the midst of the chaos. He followed the young girl and kneeled besides the very still form of his best friend. 

“You can still influence his body from here, but I don’t know what-”

“A shock.” Futaba stopped dead in the center of the room, looking at the body of her brother with wide eyes. “It is technically possible, but it depends on the type of arrhythmia, and even so our chances-” 

“Ryuji, you have to do it.” Mona turned to him, blue eyes wide at the panic in Lavenza’s face. “You can wield electricity, and it's the closest we can get to a defibrillator.” 

“What?! But how is that even gonna work?!” 

“The velvet room exists between matter and mind, they are connected, why do you think we're trying to heal him here so his body can recover?!” the cat shouted back, desperate. “You can send it to his physical body as long as you put your mind into it!” 

“I might kill him! I have never done it before!” 

“He will die if we don't do something, it's better than nothing!” Makoto had also approached, and she was yelling it with all the certainty she had that earned her title as queen. “We can't reach anyone else for help now, and we know this can be fatal! His link to his body is almost gone already!” 

The blond tried to breathe past his panic, past the reminder he hasn't used any of his metaverse powers for almost an year now. He should remember it. It was in his fingertips, and in his heart, and the memory of it was as good as knowing in that place. 

Futaba was nervously blabbering by his side.

“Technically the best would be a bivolt current, but I don't remember the position your hands should be. We can simulate an older defibrillator. Shock him once, low current and hope for the best.” 

He placed a trembling hand over the chest of his best friend, gently, too gently for what he was about to do, but he couldn't bear the thought of hurting that boy any more. 

He could feel the sparks behind his hands, and he knew how lethal electricity could be. He closed his eyes as he shocked the body under his hand once. When he opened his eyes again, Akira was still unresponsive, and his heart was beating erratic patterns under his hand. 

Ryuji felt panic clogging his throat.

A few tears ran warmly down his cheeks. Oh God. It wasn’t working. He wasn’t good enough, of course he wasn’t, he’d always known it, but hell if that was going to happen. He just pressed his hand down on the same spot and concentrated again. 

He sent a desperate prayer over Akira’s stuttering heart under his hands-

_Please, God, anyone, let him live. I'll do anything, but please let him live._

-and unloaded another quick bolt of electricity on it. 

Akira's body jerked violently under his hands, and for a terrifying moment Ryuji thought he had killed the boy he loved. 

But then Akira moaned in pain, blinking his eyes open. 

“Now or never.” Morgana was already by their side, urging them on. “We don't have much time.” 

Lavenza looked at Akira with a relieved smile on her young face. She gave him his newly acquired model gun, which he had dropped. He smiled. Things had gone full circle. 

He accepted the weapon and sat up with some difficulty, blinking away the dizziness. His chest hurt and he was a bit disorientated. 

He pushed away the sensation and got up in slightly trembling legs. 

It was such a madness that after all of that he felt better than he had in all of the past year. He felt like he could do it. He could turn it around again. 

He looked down at the gun on his hand, felt the cold metal pressing familiarly on his palm. His fingers settled in a practiced form, and the weight was almost part of himself already. He looked at the blond, noting the tiniest sparks still falling from his hands, and the terrified yet relieved look on those kind brown eyes. 

He had seen it before, something exactly like that. At the start of everything. It felt a little like his life had really begun on that rainy day, almost two years ago. 

“You know… when I went for my final shot at Yaldabaoth… All of everyone’s hope gathered in my hands. It was… warm and fluttering, like a small bird lying on my hand.” He was still looking at the model gun, thumbing lightly the metal. “Despite everything, I felt back at the start, and when it solidified on my hand, it was my Tokarev. The one you gave me.”

Slowly, he brought his arm up, and pressed the gun to his own head. 

“Just so you know-” Ryuji’s voice was trembling all the way. “I totally don’t approve of how you’re using it now.”

“Duly noted.”

It sent a shiver down their spines seeing Akira holding a gun still in his normal clothes. His black long sleeved shirt, rumpled with sleep, grey sweatpants, barefoot. His slender fingers held the weapon with practised ease, but seeing his thin arms performing that movement was wrong in too many ways. He looked soft, and vulnerable, nothing like he usually did when he was their leader, pointing his model Tokarev towards some shadow. The metal touched his temple softly. 

His hand faltered for a moment, and he lowered it.

“Before I go…” He looked at the heavy stones on the walls, the unforgiving metal of the bars and the harsh lightening of the room. It was oppressing, and gloomy, and so, so constricting. Maddeningly confining, the stone a cruel reminder of things that didn’t change, things that just didn’t stop being because of time. There were things which just giving it time wouldn’t change them, not in the ways that a human life could see, like the stones in a river. 

“I’ve always wanted to burn down these walls.”

There was a presence suddenly bursting into life behind him, and he did feel a little weaker after it, but he also felt like he could turn a new page and start over. He knew it. Arsene had always been there to pull the maddest tricks ever. He had always been more than a common persona. As Satanael had been able to deliver a skill he shouldn’t have at the end, because people’s hope was a fickle thing like that, Arsene also pulled off something he never had. 

Akira wanted fire, and he would have it. The flame was white, something unnatural and almost haunting. His fire had to burn like a curse, unearthly and all consuming. It fit him. Akira loved it. Its warmth was gentle on his hand, but fierce on its path of destruction. 

Ann reached out too. She didn’t know how to summon Carmen in the velvet room, it wasn’t the same as in the metaverse, but she could feel the energy running on her. She knew the steps to it, she remembered what fire felt like when it was under her will. And remembering was knowing, and knowing was thinking, thinking was doing, when you stood in the frontier between mind and matter. 

Their flames were timid still, burning a little too slow. Morgana concentrated and a gush of wind brought them to life with a flare. Breathing on it to fire a spark, because he was still mankind’s last drops of hope brought into life, and the want to change was a fire that needed hope to burn. 

They watched it start to burn in a faraway cell, first by the edges of the room, leaving the center for last. It spread on the floor, alight over the surface as if something flammable had been soaking the stone. 

Akira watched the bright flames with the lightest heart he had ever carried in his chest, and his eyes burned with tears.

“What will it be, after this?” 

“You’ll build over its ruins, and it’ll be something else.” Lavenza stood by his side, faithfully as always. She smiled gently as she looked up at her beloved trickster. “It’ll be breathtaking, I’m sure.”

“Will you still be looking, then?” His voice was so small it was barely there. 

“Of course.” She paused for a moment, eyes still on the clear flame. “I’ll help more. If you’re in danger, I’ll tell you.” He was her friend. She was allowed friends, and friends helped each other right? She knew how to appear in his dreams, it was easy enough.

He was quiet for a moment.

When he spoke up again, his voice was thick with emotion.

“Thank you, Lavenza.”

While they were still watching, mesmerized, the flames burning, Akira firmly brought the gun to his temple and fired at once. 

The thieves didn’t even have the time to turn around and look. Consciousness hit them like a blunt rock falling over their heads. The sound of Akira’s Tokarev firing still rang in their ears, as they blinked away the eerie blue of the walls that had encased them for the whole night. 

The room was gone. 

Lavenza kept watching the fire, with unnatural yellow eyes and a fond smile on her face. It burned brightly, and lively. The stone was falling in blocks, clearing away the stuffy atmosphere, adding to the pile of debris. She was looking forward to know who her trickster would find in the debris. 

  
  
Akira awoke in his bedroom, but he could barely make his body move. It was like moving through mud just thinking about it, and he wasn’t even entirely sure he was awake. It was still mostly dark outside. His chest ached with the reminder of something, but he couldn’t… 

He had a feeling, something too hazy to be a proper thought, that… He didn’t know why, but he could only think of his friends. There was a sudden lump on his throat. It felt so odd, being emotional and yet feeling so detached from his own body. 

He felt like someone had told him something important.

But what could be it? He had a feeling like he had been crying, but… 

Were his friends in his dreams that night? He had a distant sensation of having been happy, and not alone, and it was so out of place. Was something happening?

He summoned all of his willpower and moved, hands uncoordinated as if he had forgotten how it was, to have a body. He had to check his phone. 

There was nothing. 

Had he been dreaming, then? Was he expecting something? Why did he think his friends would send him a message now? He couldn’t… remember. It felt like forgetting, and it felt like remembering a lot of things he had forgotten before, but he couldn’t name them. 

He lost consciousness.

Ryuji ran. It was the crack of dawn, and he just had his wallet and phone, but if he waited one second more, his heart would shatter. If he didn't see Akira's face, and hugged him silly, feeling him breathing and alive, he was going to lose it. 

He was barely hanging on as it was, elbows on knees, hands over his face. He almost wished for the gentle swaying of normal trains, because it was familiar. But he was travelling by bullet train, and the ride was so emptily smooth, it felt like he wasn’t even moving. But he’d get there fast, and that was what mattered in the end. 

His phone went off, and he numbly picked it up. 

"Hey. I know you went already." Futaba’s voice wasn’t accusing, but Ryuji felt guilty for forgetting to contact them.

"Sorry. I couldn't... I had the money saved up since July. And… I said I’d go. I know it was just a shadow, but…” His voice cracked as he tried to explain how he couldn’t live with himself if he broke his promise to Akira. He knew how those things were. Talking was cheap, he had always believed that. If he couldn’t back up his words with actions what was the meaning? He had said to the shadow he’d go, if it wanted him to. It wanted him to. He had to go.

"It's ok. I think all of us woke up at the same time, because the first thing I knew Mona was here clawing at the window.” He heard her typing something on her computer before she continued. “He arrived a few minutes ago, and he was the one to remind me of calling you. Apparently he knew you’d be on your way over. He’s observant like that. And I guess he’s pretty useful at reminding people of things. I can see how Akira got hooked, it’s like a walking agenda with alarms so you don’t miss anything. But I know he just loves bossing everyone around.” She chuckled lightly, and there was some indignant hissing in the background. Ryuji felt the corner of his lips tugging upwards. He should’ve called before, he felt better hearing his friends’ voices. 

Futaba kept talking. If she noticed how unusually quiet he was, she didn’t mention it. 

“Since you already got the 'going over as fast as humanly possible' covered, we are going to prepare something good for him when we head over. An amazing surprise." He huffed a laugh. 

“But, seriously, I have to talk to Sojiro. And Makoto for sure will be looking into practical solutions. Inari already already talked to me, and he said it would be probably a good idea to have a separate group to discuss things, and I already set it up, check your phone. Ann is trying to see how soon she can be back in the country. Haru said she can help with that.” 

Ryuji took a deep breath, relieved. They were going to make it. They were already doing everything they could, they had Akira’s back. Together, they could do it.

"Thanks, Futaba." And he meant it, for more than just the information she was relaying. Her voice over the phone, making sense out of everything, talking him through a mess, it was so familiar it hurt a little.

She smiled a little, because she also had missed their team’s dynamic. But she really didn’t want to put the mood down, so she didn’t comment, opting to move onto the next topic she had called Ryuji for.

"Since I know you’re an idiot, I’m sure you actually took off without knowing his address..." 

"Shit." 

"I'm going to navigate for you when you get to his town, ok?" 

"We’re a great team. We should’ve never disbanded the Phantom Thieves." 

"Yeah, Inari was right. We had just proved to ourselves we can still change reality without the metaverse, and we still had the nerve to do that. Pretty stupid. We can still change the world if we are together."

“Hell, yeah.” Futaba’s voice was also determined. They had forgotten, a little bit, about that. About how they could change things, metaverse powers or not. 

She continued on the line, and tried to help planning for Ryuji’s unexpected visit, while the long train ride lasted.

  
  
Ryuji ran. When the train finally stopped, and the doors opened, he was already bolting out of it, making his way out of the station. Every second mattered to his stupid heart. He had to take another train, a common one, so he would finally reach his destination. Futaba helped him through all of the changes he had to do, reading aloud the name of the station he should get off, reminding him to buy some snacks so he’d be up to his task. He would have to walk a little to actually get to Akira’s front door, and he barely managed one melon pan down his throat out of what he bought out of the station. He didn’t stop to eat it, and he passed by the stores as quickly as he could, before he was out in the streets. 

And he was running again. Faster than he ran for their lives back at Shido's. He ran even better than he did back home, after he started to see the effects of his physiotherapy. Because he was someone who could never reach his full potential if his heart wasn’t entirely into it. And it felt like his heart was resting entirely on Akira’s hand at the moment. 

“You should be at his doorstep now.”

He got there before midday. He did a brief double take at the size of the house, but he honestly didn't give a damn. He just really needed to see his best friend, alive and well. 

“I should hang up," Futaba said. "You shouldn’t be talking, we don’t know if his parents are home, and you should be really silent. Also, we don’t know if his neighbours are the gossiping kind, so we shouldn’t risk bringing attention to you. Get inside as fast as you can, remember the sneaking around we did in those palaces, and as soon as you can, send me news, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, I got it.” Her strategy seemed sound. The other thieves helped come up with it. He tried to quell his nerves. He'd try sneaking in first. They were scared that Akira’s father would somehow stop them from seeing Akira, and they really wanted to see if he was okay. Futaba had looked a bit into the personal information of Akira’s parents and they shouldn’t be home at this hour anyway, but they weren’t willing to risk a thing. “Thanks, Futaba.” 

He felt this bit more anxious when he hung up, and he was left alone in the quietness of the streets around him. But he also really wanted to see his best friend as soon as he could, so he made his limbs move.

The front door was open, and he let himself in. 

The house was seemingly empty. The lights were all off. He kept looking around, not bothering with the lights since the sun coming from the windows was more than enough for him to see. 

He had a brief moment of panic. There was no sign of Akira’s parents, but there was also no sign of Akira himself. Which, in hindsight, made a lot of sense. It was a school day, and Ryuji himself was cutting classes. They had been counting on Akira being at home because they were fairly certain he would have been in a really bad shape if he almost died last night. But what if his parents made him go to school anyway? Did Akira even manage to wake up after what happened? 

Anxiety was gnawing on his nerves. If he didn’t find Akira at home, he could just go to his school. But he didn’t know the name of Akira’s school… Ryuji headed upstairs, as his last hope, already planning on calling Futaba and trying to get the information he needed.

He opened all of the doors, but only the very last one, by the end of the corridor, gave him what he was looking for. 

He almost missed the small lump under the covers. 

Akira was in bed, asleep. He was curled up, and he looked frail, his gaunt features and pale lips cutting a lonely figure on the bed. It looked wrong, seeing him all alone, no cat. No weird tools on his table. 

They almost lost him forever. 

Suddenly, Ryuji's mad dash there ended, and all the adrenaline abandoned him. His knees gave out under him, sending him to the floor with a crash. He might have knocked over something, but his whole body felt numb and he couldn’t care less, anyway.

"Ryuji...?" Akira stirred, blinking into awareness slowly, as if that cost him everything he had. Something about him looked as broken as the shadow of a boy they spent all night talking to. 

Ryuji pulled himself up and tackled his friend in a desperate hug, making both of them tumble back onto the bed with the impulse. 

"W-what...?" Akira blinked fast, head still not entirely wrapped around the concept of his best friend, maybe former best friend, on his bed. His arms moved anyway, and he was hugging back, softly, as if he wasn't too sure if he was welcome. 

His hesitation hurt too, as well as his small voice and pale lips, his weak grip. How lifeless he looked. But he was alive. He was a living, beautiful thing and everything was worth it. 

Ryuji pulled away to look at him better, taking in the gentle lull of his chest as he breathed, the undeniable warmth of his arms under his hands. 

Akira tried to stay awake through his headache and exhaustion, the way his limbs felt filled with lead. There was a faint light coming from the corridor, and he could barely think past how tired he felt. He tried to, anyway, one hand pressing down on his own temple, trying to will away the pain throbbing on his skull. His mind felt foggy and filled with cotton. 

“Why are you here?” he asked in a raspy whisper.

“I promised I’d come to see you, didn't I?”

“Oh. I see now.” His smile was sad, his longing something tender and raw. Oh, he understood now. He had that particular daydream a few times now, figures he would end up dreaming with it. 

Weird, he had almost forgotten about that promise. But now he couldn’t stop thinking about it, like it had been a recent thing. Like he had just heard it. 

It was a weird dream to have, though. He usually didn't dream up such nice things. It must be because he was thinking about it lately. The whole thing was impossible, and it was bittersweet dreaming about this, but he wasn't complaining. He'd take any small comfort at this point, even if it was a dream. Even if it would hurt when he woke up alone again. 

He snuggled up with his dreamed up best friend, tucking his head under the chin of a seemingly confused blond. Akira wrapped his arms around the warm body next to him, and felt it being reciprocated. The hold was warm and solid, and he trembled into it. Even in a dream, it had been so long since touch had been this gentle or this welcomed. 

The palm of one noticeably cooler hand gently rested on his forehead. It was comforting. He closed his eyes briefly at the touch.

“Don’t you have a fever, Aki?”

“Maybe?” He shrugged, uninterested, pulling away from the hand in favour of snuggling back into the hug. It was so good. “Who cares.” 

“I care.”

Akira valiantly huffed a laugh past the huge lump on his throat. He had really wanted to hear that. It was just a bit hard knowing it wasn’t true, and that he was just imagining all of that. Maybe that was a new way his mind came up to torture him. Rationally, he knew his best friend didn’t want to talk to him much these days, and that no one would really come to see him in that godforsaken town. But he could dream, apparently. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have really realistic dreams. Of course, this was going to backfire splendidly, and it would fucking hurt when he had to face what his life was at the moment again, but he would enjoy his illusions for just this moment. 

“Akira, you okay?” it sounded genuinely worried, and caring, and it was such a shame he was dreaming. 

Akira teared up, but kept smiling, because his emotions had always been a mess, and it’s been a little too much for him to properly repress them. Deep down, he felt like he didn’t want to, anymore. 

“Call me Aki. I like it.” Might as well take the most out of it, before it ended.

“Sure…” Ryuji’s voice came concerned and uncertain, but Akira couldn't quite point out why. Maybe his subconscious was feeling guilty for imagining them like that. He sighed and buried his head on the very soft hoodie in front of him, breathing in the faint smell of clean laundry. 

He was too tired and his body was lethargic. He could feel his awareness slipping away, even when he was trying so hard to keep dreaming. He just knew if he went to sleep in his dream, he'd end up waking up in real life, and he wanted just a bit more of those arms around him. A little more of those soft spoken words. Just this one moment of someone caring for him. 

“Wish you were here for real,” he whispered against the shoulder of his best friend, eyes closing as he lost the battle against sleep. 

“Aki?” Ryuji felt immediately as the tall body he was holding slackened, and he pulled away slightly to look at Akira's face. He was fast asleep. A lone tear ran down his cheek, and the blond felt his heart breaking in very tiny pieces. 

That broken boy was what was left _after_ he got better. How had he been holding up before they finally helped him? 

Ryuji wiped away the tear with the sleeve of his hoodie, hugged him again, and kept gently rubbing circles in his best friend's back. He stopped his hand for a moment, just to feel Akira’s heartbeat, and reassure himself they had made it in time. 

He had been expecting a slow thrumming, fitting for someone as deeply asleep as Akira was. But what Ryuji felt was a dreadful stutter between heartbeats, a fraction of second of actual silence, then a hiccuping thing as it started again. It would actually beat normally for a bit, but, after some moments, there was a stuttering again. It went away after a while, but he couldn’t be sure if it would come back. Wasn’t there people who had arrhythmia as a condition? Could it become chronic? He had no idea, and he had to talk to Futaba, she had to know how to contact Akira’s shady doctor. 

This barely alive boy on the bed was what they had after giving him some energy back. That stalling heart, and its uneven beats was him actually doing _better_. 

The amount of energy they were giving him had been just enough to surpass the line of a coma, and he had barely been able to receive that. As everything he did in life, he cut it nauseatingly close, let death breath upon his face to then turn away at the last second. 

Ryuji held him this bit tighter, and the limp body in his hold didn’t stir, like it was just a human sized puppet, lifeless in his hold. He kept a hand firmly on Akira’s back, keeping track of each stuttering beat his heart gave. With his other hand, he shakily texted their friends to update them. 

It was around two hours later that Akira stirred, trying to move and noticing he was tangled with something. There was a distinct lack of the uncomfortable heat on his face, and he distantly concluded his fever had gone down. His mind was clear as it hadn't been for weeks now, and his chest felt lighter, even if it hurt a little. It felt a little more real, somehow. 

He blinked open his eyes, and found Ryuji staring right at him, a few centimeters away.

“Your fever seems to have gone down.” Ryuji’s hand in his forehead was definitely solid, and pretty much real.“You better now?” 

Akira blinked slowly, feeling something familiar in the way he was being held. He had this distant feeling he had been gently held like that before. It felt so nice. It was like someone had put his very broken pieces together, and held him tightly, letting him sleep safely. 

“What happened?” he whispered softly. He should be scared and panicking, but for some strange reason he wasn't. He felt like Ryuji had been with him recently, even if that surely didn’t happen. Also he felt like he had finally got some sleep after a long time. He felt like he trusted his best friend more, for some reason. He disantagled himself from the warm body next to him, which he had, apparently, sort of latched on without permission. He put a very respectable distance between them. That was what he was supposed to do, right? 

It didn’t feel right. He frowned, trying to put together the scarce information he had.

Ryuji sat up, giving him some space, and Akira missed his arms around him terribly. He sat up too, but he felt cold now, and he held his own arm, rubbing small circles in his own skin.

It looked a little like he was trying to hold himself together. 

Ryuji was itching to pull him close again, but it felt a bit more intimidating hugging him now. There was something about him that seemed to be drawing a line between them, and the blond wasn’t sure if that was a ‘please reach out for me’ line, or a ‘please don’t come any closer’ line. 

“Don’t you… remember? The velvet room? All of us together?”

“Maybe…?” Akira had this vague feeling of… he couldn't quite place it, but he felt like there weren't that many shards inside his chest, like something in him was less broken. Like there was something good out there for him, maybe. But it still felt like the whole thing was settling in his heart, and he couldn't recall anything in specific. His body didn’t feel worse, but it certainly wasn’t better. “Sorry, I’m a bit out of it.”

“I totally get you, man. A lot happened.” The odd girl in blue had said Akira wouldn’t be even entirely present in his body at first, and that he wouldn’t remember everything at once. It was scary, experiencing how disconnected Akira’s soul had been from him. The link must have been terribly frail still, for him to have trouble remembering what he felt inside the room. 

Well, he actually let the link snap entirely, so they had to count themselves lucky. 

“I’m sure it did, but-” He stopped, blinking. His eyes had caught sight of a blueish notebook lying on the floor, and...

Oh. The velvet room. He remembered it. He remembered standing next to Igor’s table and… Not a lot more. He just knew he felt a lot insecure. Not drowning and suffocating like before, but something like… that unsure feeling of having talked too much about himself, and feeling too raw after that. 

There was more to it, he was sure. 

His cheeks flooded with warmth. He really hoped he didn’t whine like a brat. Oh God, he might have. Why else would Ryuji come here? His heart sped up in ugly anxiety. 

“You told me about coming here?” he asked, eventually, trying to guess if he did say something to make Ryuji feel like he should come.

“Yeah.”

Akira felt his stomach sinking to his feet. 

“Well… I’m happy you’re here, but…” he started, trying to salvage the situation. If only he could remember what sort of embarrassing things he said. “Well, I’m sorry, I guess. But thanks for coming,” he added, because he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. And, well, because he _was_ happy to see his best friend, even if he felt bad for making him come all the way to his hometown. 

He was just… really confused. Ryuji had been distant those last months, like he wasn’t… comfortable talking to Akira anymore. It could be something else, but… there was just something a bit stunted about their interactions, and everything was already going wrong anyway, Akira was half convinced Ryuji just… got over their friendship maybe. Akira had a taste of that feeling, a courtesy from Maruki, and he had been dreading a repeat of that ever since. 

Ryuji had this confused look on his face, and he wasn’t saying anything yet, just kept… looking at Akira, like he was a bit afraid he might disappear. Or like he was regretting coming already? Akira wasn’t really sure anymore, and he kept talking.

“I know you had a lot of things to do and… er,” he looked away, because he was going to press for answers, but he wasn’t entirely sure he’d like them. “I don’t exactly get why you chose to visit, but thanks. It’s… nice of you. I’m sure you had… er, better things to do than going to the countryside to waste your time, but-”

He was cut off by a fierce hug from his best friend. Ryuji held him tight enough for it to hurt a little. 

It had taken him a little bit of time, but Ryuji had caught on. 

Akira didn’t know. He didn’t understand exactly how much he had been missed. He didn’t remember them yet, and Ryuji had never told him, in those past months, how much he cared. How much life just wasn’t the same without Akira by his side. His best friend wasn't aware that the blond just hadn't know what to say to make Akira open up, because there was something up, but Ryuji couldn’t figure out what, and he was a little afraid to pressure his friend for answers. 

Akira just didn’t know. The warm smile and the easy acceptance of before had just been him thinking he was still asleep. 

It shouldn’t be that easy to put the pieces together, but Ryuji had quite literally seen his heart, and he knew Akira tended to know how to discern reality from dreams based on how horrible the experience was. If he found it pleasant, it probably was a dream.

Akira had looked content about snuggling against his best friend, who just miraculously turned up without a warning. 

When Ryuji understood that, he had pulled him for a very tight hug, because his heart would just break if he had to look at Akira’s forced politeness, knowing the underlying insecurity underneath it. 

Ryuji needed a minute to gather his words. He kept holding tight to his best friend, and just when an hesitant hand rested on his back, he found his courage.

"I missed you like a fucking limb, Akira,” he confessed in a quiet voice, and he knew it was what his best friend had been wishing to hear, because, under his hands, a lithe torso drew in a shaky breath. “I don't wanna live like that." 

Akira's eyes filled with tears, and he hugged back fiercely, face still hidden on his best friend's shoulder. 

"So… that spot next to you... is it mine still?" he asked even so, because he had to make sure. It had barely been a whisper.

"Forever.” 

"I hate it here." His voice cracked at his confession, and he buried his face into the blond's neck, seeking more of the affection he had been starving for. 

"I know. I'm so sorry. We’ll think of something, I promise." Ryuji's voice trembled, because it was always heart wrenching to watch Akira suffer. He was furious too, at his parents, at those nameless people, who got to see the person he loved so much everyday, who got to hear his voice, who got to be near someone this good and brave, but only used it to make him suffer. His hands were still on Akira’s back, and he desperately kept track of his heartbeat.

"Everyone here hates me," the wan boy whispered to him, his secret sounding fragile in the silence of his room. 

"Well, they’re all dumb, that’s what they are,” Ryuji furiously said. “I , for one, love you." 

"You... do?" Akira pulled away enough to look at the blond, wide eyed. 

"Ugh, sorry.” Ryuji buried his face into his hands, mortified. “I was planning something romantic, I swear. Oh God, I’m such a dumbass.” 

He had never thought of saying it aloud. It would just be too much, confessing exactly how deep his feelings ran. He had thought about asking Akira out, but he hadn’t really thought he’d have said ‘love’ aloud. 

But Akira had almost died so many times. And Ryuji wasn’t good at keeping things he didn’t think were wrong as secrets. Hence why he was shitty at remembering to lower his voice to talk about the thieves’ business. 

He had only lasted as long as he did without confessing to Akira because he thought Akira was going to turn him down and never talk to him again, and feel betrayed. Once Ryuji found out Akira would actually be happy knowing it? No brain to mouth filter, no sir. Only making Akira happy. So, it really wasn’t a surprise that his traitorous mouth had outed him, but damn, he was planning on a good confession this time. And not scaring the other out, talking about feelings like that before they even went on a proper date.

But Akira was smiling watery at him, like he hung the moon and all of the stars, and everything vanished from the blond's mind. 

"No, I'm..." he wiped away a few tears with the sleeve of his shirt, looking away to be able to say what was on his mind. He still seemed to struggle with it, but he seemed to believe he could try. "I don't care. I don't need something grand and romantic.” He let out a small huff, that could barely pass as a laugh. “To be honest, I think I really needed to hear that, the sooner the better. It's... it's not been... easy being here." 

His words were a bit choked out, as if he wanted to talk, but the motions of his body felt foreign to him. He wanted to talk, but he wasn’t used to wanting that and doing it. He remembered not wanting to talk, and just hiding, but there was a sudden impulse to tell things, and his body seemed a bit slow on the uptake. 

It felt a little like his heart was running right in front of him, and his body was still slow from sleeping, trying to catch up, but lagging behind. 

It had felt like his chest was going to burst as he looked at the blond, and the confession tumbled down those lips. 

It felt like knowing, but not expecting it at all, and wasn’t that odd? It felt like relief, and like being safe, and like happiness. Akira blinked, an odd sensation in his chest, something like dejavú.

“I… we talked about this? In the velvet room.” he asked, tentatively. “I feel like we did.” 

“Yeah. We talked.” Ryuji half laughed, a little embarrassed. He had sort of forgotten real Akira wouldn’t remember that yet. He just kind of acted like it was old news, and confessed again. Damn, when would he succeed in being romantic? “You should remember it all, and stuff, just don’t force it I think. That girl said you needed some time, but it’ll all come to ya,” he added, because Futaba had asked for him to please explain the whole situation to Akira, now that he was thinking back on it. Shoot, he had forgotten. 

Akira smiled softly at him, looking down at his own hands.

“Thank you.” He didn’t know how to put into words yet, the gratitude he felt. For Ryuji for having gone through all that trouble, into helping him and coming all the way to see him. For all of his friends, for having helped him. For caring about him. He wanted to thank them as well, but he felt… raw. Like he had been seen, and even though nothing bad had happened, it was overwhelming, thinking of interacting with more people this soon. His anxiety was still something vicious inside his chest, and he didn’t know how to go about that. He wouldn’t feel as at ease having to manage eight conversations at the same time, and he wanted to be able to tell his friends how much he appreciated them for caring. 

It was still a little too much to share, so he went for something that was true, but it was more manageable to say.

“It’s nice having you here.” He was so happy to have Ryuji there with him that it hurt a little. 

“Your bed is comfy.” The blond playfully jumped up a little where he was sitting, testing the softness. 

“Yeah, if we tried this in my attic bed I don’t really know how the crates would hold up.” Akira smiled, a bit wistfully, eying his real mattress resting upon his solid bed. No crates. He missed the attic, but it was also really nice just sitting there on his bed with Ryuji. 

He turned his head to look at the blond, but his vision swam vertiginously. 

“Aki?” Judging by the amount of concern in that voice, it wasn’t the first time he tried calling his name. 

Akira blinked, sluggish, unfocused. Ryuji was definitely saying something, but he was too tired to try and understand what. He blinked even slower, but the effort was too much, and he eventually closed his eyes entirely.

“Hey.” There was a hand on his arm, and Akira distantly realised he was still sitting up more thanks to that than to his own efforts. “Aki?” the voice insisted.

“I’m sleepy…” 

“Akira, listen to me. Are you sleepy, or do you feel like you might faint?”

Akira blinked his eyes open, turning the question over in his head until it made sense. 

“... like I might faint.”

“When did you eat last and what was it?”

There was a very long pause, in which Akira was desperately trying to remember when the fuck he ate last. Ryuji took it as an answer. 

“Wait here, I’ll get you something.” He was already on his feet when Akira stopped him.

“Please, stay. It’s fine.” He held the blond’s wrist, and there was this hint of desperation in his quiet voice. 

He didn’t want Ryuji to go so soon. His life at the moment felt a little too good to be true, and he felt just a bit like if he let the blond go, he’d just vanish like a dream. 

Akira probably wasn’t even aware, but his face was a lot more readable now. He looked anxious.

Ryuji didn’t really want to go anyway. 

“Okay, but at least eat this.” Ryuji took a small bar of chocolate from his hoodie’s pocket and offered it to him. He was still a little worried it was his blood pressure acting up, but some food would do him some good in any case.

Akira smiled a little when the blond relented, feeling reassured enough for a little of his humour to come back.

“Oh. Am I your valentine now?” he gave a weak lopsided grin. 

“Yes, your nerd, now eat the damn thing.” The blond was blushing fiercely at the reminder. He was nervous that time, damnit. It was Valentine's Day, and Akira would leave, and Ryuji hadn’t let himself dream that Akira wouldn’t have a date for the day. He barely had the time to get him something inconspicuous before heading over. And Akira totally had a teasing voice when he asked if they were valentines, how was he supposed to know it wasn’t a joke? “Geez, you sure hold your grudges,” he said with a pout. 

Akira smiled softly, thinking back on it. He had kept the chocolate. He had always been a bit of a hoarder, and it never felt right eating it. He just kept saying he’d eat it tomorrow, and tomorrow, and there was still time before the expiration date. Just a few months by now, but there was. It was just… He liked to keep things, so he’d remember precious moments after they were gone, and edible gifts were a bit difficult. 

After he ate it, it’d be forever gone, and what would he have to remember by that fragile moment in which he received chocolate from the boy he liked, on Valentine’s Day, sitting at the table of Leblanc’s? It had been everything; he was home, Sojiro was just outside, Akira was safe, and he was having fun with the boy he liked. His best friend’s company was comforting, and all of the girls would give them their friendship chocolate on the following day, and only Ryuji would give him chocolate on the day itself. Akira would smile, and say he’d treasure it, because it was true, and the blond would ask for him to please eat it. The smell of Boss’ signature coffee blend would be thick in the air, and for the smallest of the moments, Akira had a glimpse of happiness. Of what he could have had, if life had been just a little different.

He looked down at the chocolate bar on his hand for a moment, before confessing his sins.

"I never considered it as an obligation chocolate you know? You didn't have to know, but inside my head I liked to think about it as homey chocolate.” He huffed a laugh, because, oh, how silly of him to do that. He bit off the chocolate on his hand, chewing it and swallowing before continuing. “It was the only one I got in the day itself, and from the person I wanted. So sue me.” He shrugged, and ate another bite. Then, he gave a small smile. "I mean, please don't. I really don't want to be sued again." He chuckled at his own joke, and delighted in the snort he heard coming from the blond. 

"Huh... I kinda... well, I wasn't going to give it to you if you already had a date. But... if you didn't, I thought I could be the only one for you for once, or something dumb like that I guess." 

Akira felt his cheeks warming up, and he huffed to quell down his embarrassment. 

"Why did you get me such a tiny piece anyway? Cheap bastard." The chocolate bar he got now was significantly bigger than the tiny square Ryuji had given him last year.

"Hey! At least one of us had the guts to give chocolate at Valentines! It's a girl's holiday! You gave me so much shit about me reinforcing male stereotypes or whatever!" 

Akira actually laughed at the small jab, and Ryuji got the very familiar feeling that he would make himself look like an idiot every day if that meant hearing that laugh. 

Ryuji sat back in the bed again, as Akira continued to eat the chocolate. He really should be eating something more substantial, but he wasn’t in danger of dying out of that, so it was a worry for later.

“You should get some water too, though,” he added, when he remembered how long Akira had probably been asleep for, and that water was actually really important. 

Akira looked at his table, but his water bottle was empty. The blond followed his gaze, and understood their problem.

“I’ll get some water,” he volunteered, getting up again.

“I’m going with you.” Akira was looking more alert, and he seemed quite determined to go. Well, he could eat something better if he went down to the kitchen as well.

The blond helped him up, and Akira stood there for a moment, blinking away the dark spots in his vision. Ryuji was holding him by the arms, steadying him, seemingly ready to try and catch him if he fell. 

“It’s fine now.” Akira mumbled to the blond once he felt better.

“Oh. Okay.” Ryuji murmured, but didn’t move, staring into his best friend’s eyes. He had never really looked at them so closely before. He had never been this close to Akira’s face while actually looking him in the eyes, and he was so surprised at how nice it felt he couldn’t move. 

Grey eyes were staring back, a bit wider than normal. 

The moment was charged, and Ryuji felt this sudden joy when he realised he didn’t have anything more to hide. He could look as much as he wanted and he didn’t need any excuses for the closeness. He didn’t have to pull away.

Ryuji was hit by the sudden impulse of trying to know exactly how soft the skin on Akira’s cheek was. It looked really soft. He moved before he could think about what he was doing, as was his specialty, and his hand cupped his best friend’s face. His thumb slid gently on the surface. 

It was really soft. It warmed under his fingertips, getting tinted in a rosy colour as its owner blushed, unused to the intent stare. Akira didn’t quite know what to do when someone looked at him like that, like… like he was precious or something. 

He licked his lips, and caught brown eyes following the movement. With a rush, he realized he didn’t have to hold back. 

He closed very grey eyes, and leaned in, chasing the warmth. 

Their lips met softly, and it was such a weird experience for Akira. He had kissed people, but it wasn’t like this. It was so gentle it almost shattered something inside him, but he had never felt more loved. He parted his lips and licked inside the blond's mouth. It didn’t taste of alcohol at all. It was a subtle mix of the chocolate he had eaten, and some sugary melon soda Ryuji must’ve drank on the way to his house, and something else entirely he couldn’t quite put into words. 

Akira felt his heart trembling inside his chest. He tilted his head slowly, and his hands went to the blond’s slim waist. Ryuji’s hand was trembling slightly where it rested on his cheek, nervous, wanting. The kiss was slow, both of them enjoying the way their lips connected and rubbed together in a rush of sensations, the way their tongues met. 

They pulled away briefly, the tiniest amount of space, more to try and settle their racing hearts than because they really had something to say. Their lips were almost touching. Their breaths mingled together, and they shared that small space, that soft intimacy, the sense of familiarity.

The proximity was warm and familiar, and something seemed to click in their chests. Then, they were kissing again.

Ryuji had stopped thinking, because thinking was definitely overrated, feeling was the best thing ever, and he just followed Akira. It was oddly instinctive, trusting him in the lead, then moving and starting to understand himself, starting to know how to contribute. If he wasn’t just letting it happen, he wouldn’t be doing half as well, but it was really slow, and gentle, and he could find himself in it. 

He moved his hand away from Akira’s face, slowly sliding it so he could cradle the back of that head and tilt it a little bit. It was easier to kiss him that way, and the soft sigh against his lips made his heart feel so full he was half convinced it was going to burst. Akira’s hands had dropped down a little, holding him by the hips, steadying and gentle. The kiss got deeper, and the blond let out a small sound when he felt Akira’s tongue moving in a very deftly and delicious way. 

Akira pulled away, softly, trying to gather Ryuji’s reaction. 

He was a bit surprised at the violent flush on his cheeks. Ryuji looked open and vulnerable, but happy in a way Akira hadn’t really seen before.

“Oh, man.” The blond rested his forehead on Akira’s shoulder, huffing a shy laugh. “Gimme a minute, oh, man. I really did that. Wow.”

He burst into a nervous laughter, one hand on his face, trying to cover his blushing cheeks. 

“I kissed you!” Ryuji said rather redundantly, as he looked up, while shaking his best friend by his shoulders. There was a disbelieving and absolutely elated smile on his reddened lips. “And you totally wanted to kiss me too!” he exclaimed, like he was daring Akira to deny. 

“Huh, yeah?” Akira tried answering while being shaken by said excited best friend. 

Ryuji stopped shaking him, and his smile was so bright it was a little bit like looking directly at the sun. Akira blinked at the bubbling energy the blond seemed to exhale. Ryuji sidestepped him and rushed for the window, pulling it open and screaming to the top of his lungs. 

“What are you doing?!” Akira hissed as he tackled the blond and slid the window closed. 

“I was so happy I wanted to scream that you kissed me for everyone to hear, but I figured you wouldn’t want your neighbours to hear that in a man’s voice, so I went for just yelling in happiness. Cuz I’m so happy, you have no idea. I kinda told myself if I got to do it, I’d just yell really loud. It was kinda a bet with myself, I guess? And I totally won!” His eyes lit up at that, and he was just so precious smiling like that. 

“Yeah. You won.” Akira’s voice was warm, and his smile was so honest Ryuji’s head went kind of blank. No room for thoughts, only for Akira’s genuine smile, which was the best thing in the whole existence, for sure. It was so nice, he almost missed it when that voice- and oh, Akira’s voice got this bit deeper after he kissed people, apparently- continued talking to him.

“But I’d say I won as well.” His smile was a little bashful, but the glint in his eyes was cocky.

Ryuji’s heart flipped inside his chest. 

“Yeah, you totally did.”

His smile was so precious that Akira just leaned closer and caught the blond’s lips in another kiss. 

It was such an unusual morning. For all of the thieves, and for a mysterious girl dressed in blue, because all of them won, and there was happiness and relief to be felt for every one of them. 

There was so much to be said, and to be done still. Futaba still didn’t know how to relay the situation to Sojiro. Akira was still living with his abusive father and his mother wouldn’t help him, and he was still bound to a horrible school, without perspectives for his future. There was going to be debris, and pain, but, for once, Akira didn’t think about it. For a few minutes, he let himself have some reprieve. 

For a shiny and fragile moment, he let himself hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I spent SO MANY days fretting about those scenes, writing and rewriting it dozens of times. It was really difficult writing all of those squishy parts, and just know that the very idea about those contexts of fluff and the inspiration to write them came from the comments left here. Really thank you again. Now we will be having some serious fluff start to happen, and I'm kinda happy about it. I hope you guys enjoy it as well. There will be them solving Akira's situation, and there will be feelings to be had, and oh so many kisses, and yes, this fic is rated E, and yes a lot more of fluff. 
> 
> About the velvet room, two things. First, as some of you might have noticed, a lot of Akira's feelings had been directly taken out of verses from some of the game's songs. Oh, the truths he kept hiding, the words not to be told, how he needs his mask. Him feeling trapped, scared of being seen, trying to find the perfect answers and be exactly who people want him to be. Him being a cage of bones, empty inside. And, finally, how he wished he could burn down all the walls, how he just wants to break free from it. So, here it is, him finally doing as he'd always wanted to, burning down those walls in his heart. 
> 
> Second of all, I took a small liberty about Akira's gun. It's not explicitly said it materializes in his hand, but I put it there for continuity's sake. Because no matter what gun you bring to battle, the one in Akira's hand is his Tokarev. And he uses it to command Satanael, he raises his arm at the same time, in which I'd like to think it's because he can't really order Satanael in that form. Satanael literally represents the birth of free will, and chaos, and that form isn't like the one we get after clearing the game and summoning him in the velvet room. He only has one skill, and all of that... So. Considering how Akira gathered all of people's prayers in his hands, and closed it, and then used that hand to shoot, I made it so that energy had condensed into something that made sense for him. For him the will to fight back, the hope, they're all weapons to make things right, as his tokarev. Also, it's such a him weapon. The tokarev has no safety lock, and it's known to be dangerous for its carrier, because it tends to fire at its own will, being categorized as a lot of trigger happy. So, it's there. Also, I wanted to pay a small tribute to P3, and it made sense, the shoot, the faith, so we have Akira copying the classic movement and firing on his head. 
> 
> Also, the thieves accessing their elements in the velvet room? I just had to do it. And I wanted to have the thieves' original formation to help destroying the velvet room, because they were all around when Akira started all of that mess. I wanted them to help him get over it. That's why we had Ann, Mona and Ryuji using their powers. Also, I just think we have an abysmal lack of fics with them using their powers to defibrillate/cauterize, and so on, so, here we are. 
> 
> A smallish note, but, at the ending of royal we see Akira boarding on what clearly is the shinkansen, so I assumed Ryuji went over by shinkansen as well. The tickets are pretty expensive (almost as much or even more than a flight), and the ride is so smooth it really feels like you're not moving, so it's pretty unnerving. 
> 
> Thank you all again so much for reading, and commenting, and leaving kudos!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof, I'm back! I'm pleased to warn that in this chapter there is smut! Light smut, probably more on the mature side, but we're on track, getting ready for the more steamy parts. Since I'm not a minor anymore, I have a duty to ask for any minor that got lost around here (despite the E rating), to please look away! Have I been one of those minors putting my nose where I shouldn't? Definitely. But since I'm above 18 now, I have to be a good and responsible friend. And, if you read it, please don't tell me, I'm more than happy discussing smut, but I can't in good conscience be talking sex positions with a minor, so, please, thank you! The rest of you, feel free to talk dirty whenever laksjdlakj
> 
> On another note, woah, is this chapter full of comfort, with some fluff sprinkled on. The lenght is normal, the content is a bit embarrassing, but I hope you can enjoy it. 
> 
> Wow, we're getting to the end of this. I don't know how to feel, but oof. Anyway, thank you so so much for everyone still here reading, and thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Eventually they managed to pull away from each other, and actually go downstairs to get something to eat. Ryuji abandoned his hoodie in Akira’s room, since the temperature was been warm enough indoors. He also didn’t want to risk losing it around the house, and causing any trouble. He wasn’t cold anyway, even in his white tank top.

“You sure ‘s cool if we use the kitchen? Like, your parents won’t show up or anything, right?” 

“We’re good for today, but tomorrow my father will be home and we’ll probably have to hide you,” Akira said, absentmindedly, while they were on the stairs. It definitely meant Ryuji wouldn’t be able to stay there for as long as he had been thinking.

Ryuji winced, following Akira into the kitchen.

“So, you think they won’t be cool with me staying’ here as your friend?”

Akira scoffed, pulling a chair for himself and seating at the kitchen table. 

“Definitely not. My mother gets suspicious about pretty much any male friend I have, and she’ll definitely think you’re some degenerated by your bleached hair alone.” She’d definitely not approve even of their friendship. “I guess she just knows, deep down, I’m not straight, and she’s trying to keep me from getting close enough to another man to start kissing him, I guess.” He shrugged.

“Well, that didn’t work.”

Akira huffed a laugh at that. Yeah, definitely didn’t work. 

Ryuji was looking around the kitchen, figuring Akira wouldn’t really mind, and because he felt a little on the edge being out in the open knowing he couldn’t be caught by some adult. Akira didn’t look quite relaxed as well, but he was trying to be a gracious host. They should be alright using the kitchen at this time of the day.

There was a moment of silence, before Akira spoke up.

“I should talk to the team, but I’m nervous,” he admitted. He wanted to… thank them, and everything, because he felt a lot closer to them after last night, but he was still this bit anxious.

“Why?”

“Dunno.” He rested his arms on the table, crossing them and resting his head on his folded arms, hiding his face. “I think I just don’t know what to say. If I could remember better what happened, I think I would know.”

“I’ve already kinda updated them, so you don’t, like, need to say anything right now.” He had explained what had happened- minus the whole kissing part, because he wasn’t sure how one told those things- and all the others really wanted to know was if Akira was okay. “They understand, Aki. You’re still kinda beaten up.”

“I just… I feel like if I’m not actively giving them attention, they won’t be my friends anymore, I guess,” he found himself saying. 

“Aki. We were ready to die by your side any given time last year, give us some credit, dude,” he half laughed. “It won’t be cuz you’re too tired to answer a few texts that they’ll change their minds.”

“I guess you’re right…” 

“Let’s just make some instant ramen,” Ryuji proposed, because Akira still looked tired, and anything else would take too much time. 

Even so, Akira almost dozed off while eating, even if he had slept a lot last night. He seemed more awake after eating, but it was clear how deep his exhaustion ran. They ate quickly, Ryuji mourning a little how bland the instant ramen was, and soon they were back upstairs. 

Akira opened a new toothbrush and gave it to the blond, and tried not to think too much of how nice it was to share that small space of the bathroom, brushing their teeth together. It was something about the domesticity of it all, or the easiness of just being close to each other. 

It was a little bit about how, when he threw himself in the bed, he felt the mattress dipping slightly as the blond followed him, and his heart thumped in his chest. 

Akira turned on his side, finding the blond also lying on his side and looking at him. It was oddly reassuring having him around. Maybe because he trusted Ryuji, and it was like someone had taken the weight of the world off his shoulders, being able to just trust someone who was next to him. He closed his eyes, soothed by the closeness. 

"Aki?” it was soft, and quiet, and this bit insecure, so Akira immediately looked up, giving his full attention to the blond.

“I’ve been thinking ‘bout some stuff, and... Do you... wanna date me?” Ryuji’s voice was painfully insecure, almost like he was expecting a no, which, in Akira’s opinion was just ridiculous. “It'll be long distance for a while, but-”

"I do,” Akira cut him off, because it just felt mean letting Ryuji think, for a second longer, that he’d get turned down. To let him talk in that insecure voice, as if he wasn’t an amazing person who a lot of people would give a lot to date. “Please go out with me,” he said, taking one of the blond’s hands and kissing his knuckles, playfully, just to see Ryuji blushing and sputtering. Because he was a little bastard and liked using his charm on people. 

“You’re ridiculous.” The blond lightly shoved his arm, and he was blushing fiercely, but he was also too happy to hide a smile pulling on his lips. 

Akira chuckled quietly, feeling a little ridiculous indeed. There was something about being real with his feelings that felt embarrassing, and it made him feel like a child. 

It was about that quiet and indescribable fascination at things that were old news to the rest of the world.

How many people had started dating since the dawn of the world? Love was so old, and the world was an ashen cold forge. But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like stopping humanity’s demise hadn’t felt like. 

Warm and kind brown eyes were watching him, alight with happiness. The blond’s lips had been so soft, and his kiss still burned in Akira’s own mouth. Ryuji was there, undeniably there, all loose limbs and easy smiles, solid biceps and very narrow hips, real and tangible, and Akira was allowed to touch him. 

Akira leaned in, and he felt a thrill at how readily the blond let his eyes fall shut in an almost conditioned response to their proximity. Anticipatory, trusting, hungry, and the distance was gone again, and they were kissing. 

Akira's tongue moved skilfully, he knew the movements to make it enjoyable, but his hands trembled with emotion. 

He tasted minty and fresh, and kissing him was every bit as amazing as Ryuji had always daydreamed about. 

Ryuji kissed back, drinking in the small sound Akira made when he accidentally grazed his teeth in a plump lower lip. Maybe because they were both lying down in a very convenient bed, but it was a lot hotter than the kiss they shared before. His hands tangled in black curls and cupped a lithe waist, and they kissed fervently. 

Akira felt dizzy. Kissing the blond felt like putting a bare electrical wire inside his mouth. His heart was thundering in his chest, the heat was something alive and impossible to contain. Akira couldn’t, for the life of him, pull away from that. His body merely let it happen, trembling at the feel of a hand on his neck, angling his head just so. Ryuji kissed like everything he did in life: recklessly, without a second thought, and like Akira was the best thing that had ever happened to the world. 

When they pulled back, Akira had very red lips, wet and slightly open as he tried to catch his breath, hair messy by Ryuji's early greedy hold on it, blush high on his cheeks.

He stared almost unbelievingly at his best friend, taking in the wide eyes, the softness in them as he looked up at Akira, his hands still holding him gently by the waist. His chest was rising and falling quickly, his biceps were warm, and solid under Akira’s appreciative grip. His Adam’s apple moved visibly as he swallowed, brown eyes darting down to catch a glimpse of pink lips. 

Akira wanted him closer. He wanted to sink in that warm hold and kiss that boy silly. 

Akira was moving, then, pushing the blond so he’d rest his back on the bed, and then promptly straddling his hips, settling a round ass on the blond's lap. He was deeply satisfied with the soft pleased sound that followed his movements. There was something heated in his eyes when he looked down at the blond, something not so unlike his leader in the Metaverse. 

Ryuji missed seeing that spark on his gaze, the defiant glint. He watched as Akira’s lips curled up into his trademark devastating Joker’s grin, and he might as well have just decked Ryuji in the face. Skull had been tortured by the temptation of that grin too many times to count, he had dreams about it, and there was only so much he could really take. 

He groaned, sitting up and pulling Akira by his hips, impossibly close, gluing their chests together. Entirely undetained by the surprised little moan Akira gave out, kissing the sound out of the boy on his lap. 

Ryuji’s hands ran down the expanse of a long spine, settling on a firm pair of thighs. Akira moaned softly and instinctively rolled his hips, grinding down on the blond. 

He gasped when he felt something hard just beneath him. They pulled away from the kiss, panting into the small space between their lips. Akira tried to find his thoughts again. His own boxers were tight, muscles tense as arousal pooled low in his abdomen. 

"I..." he tried to articulate his thoughts, lips ghosting over Ryuji’s, but he wasn’t very successful.

"Should we stop?" the blond asked hesitantly, looking Akira in the eye, hands still where they rested high on his thighs.

"Do you want to?" Akira asked back, trying to think past how good it felt his boyfriend’s hands on him.

"Honestly? No.” Ryuji huffed a laugh, adjusting Akira on his lap. He tensed as that round bottom settled over a very sensitive area. Oh God, he was going to have so many wet dreams about it, it wasn’t even funny. 

“But I think other people would think it’s a bit fast,” Ryuji sounded only a little bit strangled. “We just got together, and stuff. So I thought it’d be better if I asked ‘n all,” he self consciously rubbed his own neck.

"I want it too.” He did. Akira had wanted it for some time, and he knew Ryuji was going to leave, and soon. They haven't talked about it yet, but it didn't take a genius to know. The school year wasn’t over. Akira’s parents wouldn’t let a boy stay in their son’s room. Ryuji was going to leave, and Akira wanted to make the most out of the little time they had. He didn’t even know when they would be seeing each other again. He’d regret so much if he let go without doing what he wanted. “Who cares for other people's pace." 

The blond laughed breathlessly at that, and delighted at seeing the smile reflected on his best friend’s lips. Whatever was happening was different, but it was good. Even if their hearts were doing backflips inside their chests at the novelty of it all. 

Akira leaned forward and pecked his mouth, softly, something warming up in his chest as he felt a small sigh against his lips. The sensation was entirely different, and they kept the kiss soft and slow despite how compromising their position was, experimenting with the tingling in their lips, the teasing drag of their tongues. 

Akira felt lightheaded. The feeling was entirely foreign. No one he ever kissed had cared about him. He had never been touched with love. It was odd how starkly the difference was. He had never really believed he could ever be one of those people, in a relationship with someone he liked, being in the receiving end of… all those soft spoken words and gentle touches. 

He had been approached often enough to know he could be attractive, but… it was quite another thing whatever was happening between them. Having his feelings acknowledged was earth shattering enough, but having them reciprocated? Weird beyond belief. He had never felt this warm and safe when in anyone’s arms, and it was a heady sensation. 

He shuffled around a little, grinding down on the hard on under him. Ryuji hissed, and it was interesting, pulling out those sounds out of him. Akira wanted to hear more, he wanted to feel more. 

He pulled away from the kiss to reach down and try popping open the button of the blond’s trousers. He had to scoot away a little, ending up sitting on the bed with his legs just loosely around Ryuji’s hips, but he accomplished his goal. He held his breath as he gave into the burning want in his chest and touched the bulge trapped inside white fabric. It was hot and firm, and his mouth watered. He blushed, taken aback by his own reactions. 

“Where’s that underwear you had, the one with a bright neon waistband?” he asked, to hide his own embarrassment.

Ryuji could have explained he only really wore underwear with a fashionable - yes, it was fashionable, shut up, Ann- waistband when it was summer and it would actually be seen. And that if he kept using it all the time the colour would fade, and it would just look lame. 

But he didn’t have enough brain cells to spare at the moment, when his brain was entirely busy with the fact that he had a lap full of his very attractive best friend. 

The blond huffed, ignoring the teasing tone, taking off Akira’s boxers and sweatpants in a swift movement, to which Akira contributed by lifting his hips to shimmer out of his own clothes. Ryuji took the opportunity to grab a handful of a milky thigh and squeeze the firm flesh, pulling him back to his lap. 

Akira sucked in a breath, biting in the moan trying to escape his lips. He hadn’t touched himself in a while, too tired for that even when he had felt aroused, and had half a mind of doing it. But he didn’t feel safe enough most of the time, anyway. It made him feel much more sensitive, and he trembled as he felt the light touch on his thighs, hot lips on his own. 

His fingers fumbled for a bit, but he managed to pull down Ryuji’s boxers enough to free his dick. Akira supposed he could try to take the other's clothes off, at least so they’d be even. But then he’d have to move away from his privileged seat on his boyfriend’s lap, and Akira wasn’t interested in that. 

When he felt his boyfriend’s cock against his own he almost jumped at the sensation. It was different from anything else he had ever felt, the touch was hot and smooth at the same time, and it felt good. They didn’t have a very solid idea about what they were doing, hands moving in unsteady patterns.

But it was them, and it was good. 

The blond kissed the breath out of him, and then pressed kisses on his cheek, and on his chin, and on the sensitive skin of his neck, and Akira trembled and trusted. 

He returned the gentleness by cradling the blond’s head with a tender hand, kissing the corner of his mouth while trying to catch his breath, with whispers of the other’s name on his lips. 

Ryuji slightly changed his grip, and made Akira gasp against his mouth, hand faltering at the feeling. 

Ryuji felt a rush at the reaction, and his lips were on the curve of Akira’s pale neck, and then he was sucking what would probably be a hickey. Akira’s voice was the loveliest thing, and the blond almost came just at hearing him moan like that. He was too excited to wait, to keep that teasing rhythm Akira started, so he batted his hand away and started to pump their cocks together without Akira’s help. 

Akira keened at the feeling, trembling slightly as he felt their heads rubbing together. The precum made it kind of slippery, but the blond kept a tight grip on them. Akira muffled a moan against the blond’s shoulder, face flushed. 

He nuzzled Ryuji’s neck, mouthing the sensitive skin as he buried his hands on soft blond locks. 

Ryuji let him for a little, but soon turned his head to try and get another kiss. He sighed into it, letting Akira take control of the kiss with his witty tongue and clever lips. It was hot, but there was something sweet to it. Akira was cradling his face, thumbing his cheek in a small caress. 

Ryuji loved him so much his heart ached from it. 

The blond reached his free hand to touch Akira, exploring under the black fabric of his shirt. His thumb caught the dip of Akira’s hip bone, and he caressed it gently, feeling the way the tiny hairs over the skin raised up, and Akira shivered, sensitive. 

The torso was a bit too thin, and Ryuji swore to himself he was going to get back to his old business of making sure Akira ate. 

He continued up, hand moving gently until his fingertips found a small but perky nub. Akira gasped at the feeling, and the blond tried rubbing it a bit more roughly. Akira thrusted up into the tight circle of his hand, and the way his hips moved, the way his voice let out a shaky moan, everything just made the blond burn with want. Akira’s moans were getting more breathless, and this bit more high pitched. 

Their kiss got messy, the blond could barely think, feeling Akira panting hot breaths of air between their lips. Ryuji’s hand started a punishing rhythm, and Akira was kissing him desperately, wickedly, hands grabbing at blond locks blindly. 

Akira pulled away when he ran out of breath, and Ryuji dragged his lips across a flushed cheek, enjoying the way Akira’s voice had started to quiver, his moans tumbling down those pink lips more quickly. He sounded good enough to eat, and when the blond found the sensitive skin of the curve of Akira’s neck, he was biting on it. 

Ryuji’s canines were this bit sharp, and the small sting felt heavenly. Akira’s breathing hitched, and he came messily on his hand, letting out small sounds that were just unfair.

The blond kept pulling at their cocks together, even if Akira had already cum. And Akira was too blissed out to protest, moaning weakly, still chasing the sparks of pleasure as Ryuji kept working his spent cock into oversensitivity. 

He came shortly after with a strangled little sound, and Akira moaned quietly as he felt the warm liquid on his own skin. 

He felt spent, but good, like all of his pent up anxiety and frustrations had calmed down and fell silent all at once. It felt good doing something pleasant with his body, something that made him focus on feeling, and not on thinking. He felt present in his own body, and it was good. He relaxed, leaning on the wall by his side, and trying to get his breathing under control again. Ryuji was doing a similar effort, but he was trying to keep his sticky hand from dripping cum on Akira’s bed.

“Hold on, lemme…” Akira reached for the tissues on the drawer in his bedside table, trying to help clean up everything. He got more than a little worried about leaving any sort of evidence on his bed, so he went for the blond’s hand first, wiping it gently. 

He held it between his own two hands for a little, starting to feel a little embarrassed. 

Ryuji reached behind him, for the small towel on his bedside, and cleaned them both before anything got to the sheets. Akira blushed, but let him do it, looking away until he was done. They tucked themselves in again, and Akira was feeling a bit bashful now, for having quite literally jumped his best friend. Boyfriend. And for having to go pick up his boxers from the floor where they had discarded it earlier. Anyway, he felt really awkward, but tried his best not to look like it too much.

Ryuji either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Truthfully, he was just too happy about getting Akira as a boyfriend, and being able to finally touch him, and see him, and just be with him after all these months. 

“Er… Maybe you should borrow a shirt of mine,” Akira said, pointing to a suspicious stain on Ryuji’s t-shirt.

“Shit.” Ryuji grimaced at his own shirt, and readily agreed on borrowing a clean one.

Akira picked up a short sleeved black shirt, because he didn’t really have tank tops, nor a lot of other colours in his wardrobe. 

He swallowed dry when Ryuji took off his ruined shirt, exposing his strong back and sinfully small waist. 

Oh. It had been a while since he saw Ryuji. He had beefed up quite nicely, and he was already fit before. His t-shirt was criminally snug on the blond’s biceps, and Akira looked away quickly. 

Would it be too much information if he confessed he had always been a little curious if those arms could hold him up against a wall? 

Probably. He bit down on his lip and tried to think more pure thoughts. He had just come, and he shouldn’t still be with his mind that far into the gutter.

Ryuji, to his absolute credit, only died inside a little while watching Akira’s teeth sinking on his very soft lips. Oh, to be allowed to touch that boy. He had thought about that for so long, it was amazing being able to finally do it.

He finished putting on the t-shirt, and immediately reached back for Akira, pushing him over so he would be lying down again, Ryuji hovering over him with a bright light in his eyes and a blinding smile on his face. 

He pecked lips, cheeks, forehead, and jawline, and all the ticklish spots he could find on his neck, until the boy under him was laughing, breathless and loved. 

Akira was remarkably sensitive, the barest touch in his skin sent him giggling, the smallest kiss made goosebumps appear. Probably because he wasn’t used to being touched, didn’t really let many people get that close. 

He squirmed under the kisses, but didn’t really fight him off, laughing that soundless laugh he had, trusting, and happy. 

When Akira stopped laughing, they settled in comfortable silence for a few moments. 

Their lips met again in a soft kiss, gently, slow, just because. 

Akira was drowsy, running low on energy still, but there was something alive in his eyes again. Not the same fire people have told him he had, when he left Tokyo, victory fresh on his mind, a boy who had conquered the world. 

He wasn't that person anymore, but he could be again. He could be better than that. He thought he could carve a space for himself in this big world, and finally be happy. 

Ryuji took a look at Akira’s soft and sleepy expression, his hair, curls all messy now. He tucked a silky black curl behind Akira’s ear, and watched his cheeks tinted in red again. 

Akira smiled a little, but looked away. 

Akira felt embarrassed about weird things. Mostly, emotional vulnerability. Ok, Ryuji could kind of understand where he was coming from there.

"It's been a while since I laughed,” Akira murmured, and he sounded a bit surprised. Like it just wasn’t something he had noticed before that was missing. “Thanks." 

"Anytime, babe." Came the soft reply, because Ryuji was trying very hard to talk over the lump on his throat at the reminder of Akira's pain. "I haven't felt like this in a while too,” he blurted out. “I meant what I said. I feel free with you, and I love to be free. I-it’s- I’m happy.” 

Akira smiled at that, obviously happy for making someone else happy, and Ryuji wondered what kind of madman was in charge of the world and decided he could have the love of the softest boy alive.

He kissed that smile too, for the hell of it, because now he had the permission to do that, he wasn't stopping himself anymore. 

It was new, being able to do that, even if the familiarity and closeness were old friends of theirs. It was comfortable, but exciting, and happiness was still a foreign feeling that Akira tended to feel this bit anxious about on principle. 

“Okay. I was thinking... Huh… About us, though. And the team,” he started, worrying the hem of Ryuji’s borrowed shirt between his fingers, to occupy himself. “Do you think… I mean, we don’t have to tell them, I guess?”

"You weren’t thinking of telling the team?" Ryuji blinked twice, surprised. He had kind of assumed they’d be sharing the news, since everyone already knew they were into each other. “Huh, why?”

"I... it's a little embarrassing, I guess.” 

"Oh right, I guess you don’t remember it. They all... well, kinda know we have, like... feelings for each other."

"And they were okay with it?" his voice was quiet.

"More than okay. A few of them might even have found out something about themselves too. Figures, huh? Our group of misfits maybe has something in common besides being persona users, after all." 

“Oh.” He stopped for a moment. Yes, that sounded right. He was a little confused before, but now Ryuji told him that, he kind of remembered… Ann, who was just like him, in love with her best friend but too hesitant to take that next step. The other thieves, and their support. Yusuke’s drawing, and gentle words about how inspiring young love was, not a single thought about how they were two boys. “Yeah, I remember it now. It’s weird, it just comes to me, sometimes, the memories of it all. It’s weird, because I remember it as a very realistic dream.”

"About that… Huh, I'm sorry. It feels like we snooped around and discovered secrets you didn't want to share. I was desperate back then, so I did it, but... it doesn't feel right now." 

"My shadow talked to you because I'd have too.” Akira knew it with certainty. “It's okay. I have always... wanted to tell all of you lots of things. I've wanted to tell you how I felt. I was just... too scared because of all that happened to me before, what was happening at the time." 

There had been a lot happening for Akira, and it was hard not worrying about that. 

Ryuji pressed a kiss on his cheek, and pulled Akira into a hug. 

“Aki, you know I’m… I’m impulsive as shit, and I’m not good at planning stuff. What I mean is... “ He sighed, struggling to put his feelings into words. “I care so much about you. I told ya, I was planning on, like, being someone before actually confessing to you.”

Akira frowned.

“Ryuji, you’ve always been someone. You having a scholarship or not doesn’t define your worth.”

“I-I know. I mean. I kinda know.” He did, but didn’t, because it was hard appreciating yourself. It was a learning experience, and he wasn’t quite there yet. “That's not what I was trying to say, damnit.” He half laughed, nervously. It was hard talking about feelings. If he wasn’t hugging Akira, and, thus, not looking him in the eyes, he wouldn’t have been able to blurt the words out. “What I’m trying to say is that I… Fuck, Aki, I love you a lot. I know it’s a bit too much to say, but we went through a lot together, and I know what I feel, almost two years of this and I almost lost you without saying anything, so, fuck it, I love you.” 

Akira trembled with the need to just say it back, because Ryuji was right, their lives were a mess and they had almost died too many times to count and it was just silly not saying what mattered before time ran out. But his throat closed. The more precious the sentiment, the more protective he felt about it. And oh how warm his love felt, he couldn’t bear the very possibility of having it out in the open, where something bad could happen as soon as he admitted to it aloud. 

His guilt was easier to carry because Ryuji continued talking as if he never noticed Akira’s internal struggle. Probably because he had walked the empty halls of Akira’s very heart and he had been confessed to in vivid detail, he had walked the memories of the boy he loved and relived the day said boy realized his own love. He had felt the intensity of the feeling, he had had the privilege of Akira’s trust out of his most wounded shadows. He knew about his love, and he had never put too much faith in words. He valued actions over any sweet talking. Akira wanted to tell him even so. 

“Even before I knew what I felt, I cared, Aki, and what I’m getting at is, a lot happened to you in these almost two years.” 

Akira still didn’t quite get where Ryuji was trying to get to with that line of thought. But the blond did tend to have a little bit of difficulty organizing his thoughts, which usually led him to have some trouble with the schoolwork. Even if he understood the subject, he ended up getting lost in his own calculations, or forgetting what was his point while writing an essay. 

He tended to cut himself off while speaking, because most people didn’t have the patience to let him get to the point he was trying to convey. 

Akira had loads of patience, so he kept looking at the blond, incentivizing him to continue. 

“What I’m trying to say is… we can take it slow, Aki. Like, really slow. Or not at all, we really don’t have to date now, you can-”

“Ryuji, please. I-I… I know there’s a lot happening. And I know it’s not how things usually go for people, but I’m really in a better place mentally now since you guys went to the velvet room.” He needed to put a few things on the table. It was one thing if Ryuji was having second thoughts about them dating because he didn’t want it or something, but if he was talking about all of that because he was trying to be considerate, Akira was stopping him right there. 

“I know there’s still the matter about my parents, and I know I still think about the bad things that happened last year, but… I honestly think I’m okay now.” It was an odd realisation. It wasn’t like… It wasn’t like he didn’t remember the bad things, or as if he would just turn into another person, but… His heart was lighter to carry. He knew where he had been broken, he understood it, and he could go on. He was ready to start being better.

“I knew when I wasn’t okay, last year, when I was still figuring my sexuality out, but now I’m okay. I’ve given it a lot of thought this year, since I’ve been back, and…” The doubt, the shame, he had wrestled with it, actively fought it tooth and nail, and got out on the other side accepting himself. 

“I think it’s been worse for me trying to hold back, you know? Trying to keep myself in check and not be as affectionate with you as I wanted, and not overstepping the friendship territory.” The guilt for falling for his best friend was entirely gone now, and he could only really focus on how hard it had been to keep his hands to himself all of that time, to stop himself from looking too much, to leaning on the freely offered touches. 

“Because… you’re still my best friend, but what I’ve been feeling for you is more than friendship for a whole year now, and… It’s painful, not being able to act on my feelings. I really want to give this a try now, I mean, if you still want it.” He backtracked slightly, pulling away to look the blond in the eyes. 

“Yeah, no, I-I’m, I’m good with it too.” Ryuji’s voice was quiet, but it wasn’t surprising. He always was quieter when he was serious, and he only really exposed that part of his heart to Akira. “I mean, I also hated having to hold myself back like that, but, y’know… Anyway, the other thing is… we don’t have to… I mean, we can date, definitely, since we’re both on the same page about that, but, we don’t have to… Uh… Do adult things, if you don’t feel like it?” he said, lamely, embarrassed and not able to find the right words. 

“You do know we’re not underage anymore, right?” Akira said, frowning a little, thrown off. Ryuji had turned 18 back in July, and his own birthday had been a bit more than a week ago, but he was trying not to think about it too much. It had been a depressing affair, and he had thought, more than once, how wonderful it’d have been if his friends had been there with him. It had sucked, almost as much as last year, in which he didn’t have the time for it because he was dealing with the whole might-get-arrested-and-murdered situation. He didn’t like his birthdays a lot, but that wasn’t the point. “We’re kinda adults.” No job, and no house, but they were officially adults. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the point?” Ryuji sighed, trying to find the words. “Listen, I had a load of time to think about this and… We’re dating, but that doesn’t mean… You don’t have to go along with anything you don’t want to, alright?” 

“Oh.” Akira was good at understanding, he was good with reading people, and he knew his best friend like the back of his own hand. The jumbled words, the feeling behind them, suddenly it all made sense, and Akira heard what Ryuji didn’t quite could make himself say.

_I don’t want you to be as scared as I was on that night, y’know?_

Akira suddenly remembered a story about his best friend, a story he hadn’t known before he went to sleep last night. A bluish tint to the memory, a moment of vulnerability shared in a small cell. A boy with a horrible dad, trapped in a sexual situation with an unknown woman before he was ready.

“Thank you.” For being so honest with his feelings, because Akira knew how terrifying it was, to open up like that. “I promise I’ll think about it.” He owed Ryuji that much. After everything that happened, it’d be horrible if Akira freaked out because of something the blond did, just because Akira hadn’t bothered to just _think_ about where his boundaries might be. Ryuji would never forgive himself, and it’d be horrible and unfair. 

Akira hesitated for a moment, but then he was speaking up again. “But… I just wanted you to know that I liked what we did tonight. I’d like to do it again,” he murmured, not quite looking the blond in the eyes, because it was embarrassing saying those things aloud. 

“Cool,” Ryuji awkwardly said, feeling his cheeks warming up. “Huh, me too,” he added, with a small smile.

“Okay? And if you…”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it too. And I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

It was… reassuring. Akira didn’t quite know how to feel, but Ryuji looked happy at being able to help in some way. It still felt weird, not being the one giving out advice, and encouragement. He did it a lot for Ryuji when they were in Tokyo, and he supposed he did help in some way, but… It was different. He still felt nervous at being seen like this, at opening up to someone else, but it was also nice. 

He was more than a little heartbroken at the reminder of Ryuji’s dad and what he made his son go through, and Akira had this particular urge of kicking his teeth in, but he was also… 

It was a mess, but he admired Ryuji for turning out to be so good despite everything. All of the thieves were like that, in some way, they had taken a beating from the world and turned it into a want to change things for the better, and into kindness to their loved ones. 

He took a deep breath, tired down to his bones. Ryuji also looked quite exhausted, what if everything they were up to in his velvet room. They weren’t cuddling, nor hugging, but the proximity was nice. 

Akira hadn’t really thought a lot about how fast or slow he wanted their relationship to progress. That is, was sex even a checkpoint of progress? 

The more he really thought about it, the more it didn’t sound likely. He knew he wanted it, he had had his share of very embarrassing dreams and daydreams alike, but thinking things in theory, and actually doing them had a different weight. He looked at his boyfriend’s sleeping face. 

Progress, in a relationship, probably had to do with how attuned they were to each other, and how comfortable it was for them to be together… Eventually, how well they could be around each other, to the point that they could even live together one day, maybe, navigating their space and not wanting to scream at each other. It had to do with really knowing the other, and knowing when to try and talk, and when to give the other person some space. 

There was a lot in there that they already had because of how well they came to know each other, and they had been lowkey in love for a long time now, so it wasn’t as awkward as it should be if they had been just friends without mutual crushes on each other for years. At the same time, it was a new development, and Ryuji had just said he wanted it to be comfortable for both of them. That there weren't expectations about intimacy, not like that. 

He had… He could see how even fooling around could be a little terrifying if he wasn’t with someone he trusted so much. 

He kind of started to understand why Lala discreetly turned away all of her clients who tried to get it on with him. She was protecting him. She didn’t straight up go to him and accused him, or told him to stop, because she had been there, a reckless teenager who thought they were mature and knew what they were doing, and she knew he wouldn’t listen. 

She knew, if she directly confronted him, she would have just lost his trust, and he would never ask for help if he one day needed it. 

Akira felt a little guilty, because there had been a few times in which people had asked his age, and he had lied, but Lala had probably pulled those clients aside and explained, because, thinking back on it, he had never managed to seduce them again. 

He felt a pang of guilt when he thought of Lala. She had been his boss, and he had been so reckless, he didn't stop to think about her at all while he experimented in her bar. 

She had tried to keep him away from the alcohol, until the alternative was so much worse, and she kept worrying about him wandering those streets alone… He should have known she’d keep one eye on him. 

He sighed, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to the warm body next to him. 

So much changed after he left. He had grown in so many ways, and he really wanted to talk to Lala again, now he understood things better. 

The changes in his life had always been sudden, long periods of nothingness followed up by life changing events that bordered on unnatural. 

It was the middle of the day, but it was a safe hour to be asleep together in his bed. His curtains blocked off almost all light anyway, night owl as he had always been before Mona’s constant interference. 

He still felt a little on the edge, but he was also exhausted and sluggish, and he felt safer knowing his best friend was there with him, irrational as it might be. 

He turned to lay on his side, back to the wall, and he took a few moments to watch Ryuji asleep. He was lying on his back, the arm farther from Akira up and under the pillow, his expression serene in a way he usually wasn’t awake. Akira smiled a little bit to himself, and soon he was asleep as well.

  
  
  


Ryuji woke up a few hours later, not really sure how much he had slept, since Akira’s room was still as dark as it had been before. His curtains were really thick. He sat up, and the warm body next to him stirred. 

He heard Akira sighing and pushing himself up, almost dragging himself out of sleep as if his body weighed a ton. 

"Oh, you up. Where do you wanna go?" Akira asked bleary, sitting up and trying to comb his hair with his fingers. His silhouette was discernible, but it was a bit weird that he hadn’t turned on the lights. 

Ryuji frowned, watching Akira get up and reach for a change of clothes. 

"Whaddya mean? You were sick these past days, you shouldn't be on and about."  
  
Akira stopped what he was doing. "But... it's boring here, right?” His voice was quiet, still a little raspy from sleep. “You didn't come all the way here to be stuck in my room. There's not much to see, but I can show you around."  
  
Ryuji got up, opening his arms to hug his boyfriend. "Aki, babe, you-" He stopped short as his cheek pressed against Akira’s, who winced and tried to get away. "You have a fever, your madman!"  
  
Akira rolled his eyes, pushing his hand away. "It's just a little, it should be fine."  
  
"No, I ain't buying that. I've seen tons of times you hid you were hurt or sick."  
  
"I feel perfectly fine." Akira had the nerve to say. 

Ryuji huffed.  
  
".... ok, I feel a bit cold." Akira conceded, sitting down on the bed, clenching his teeth as he shivered, trying not to raise attention to that. He would be fine if he wore something warm. No reason to bore his guest out of his mind and stay cooped up in his room.

He might feel a little bit like if he didn’t entertain his guest enough, he’d just leave, but he wasn’t saying that aloud. 

“Why do I think you’re bullshitting me?”

"My head might hurt a bit." Akira yielded.  
  
“Aki, you’re shivering,” the blond noticed, when he put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Hold on.”  
  
Akira moaned pitifully when Ryuji tried turning on the lights to look for a spare blanket, burying his face into the pillow and curling up. He definitely had a migraine, and it was a nasty one. 

Ryuji felt really bad for having to keep the lights on as he searched the room for a spare blanket and to locate the water bottle. Akira looked a lot worse than before. Small tears were dripping down as he hid his face behind his arms. He was tired, but it was too much agony to sleep through it. He felt nauseous, and quite frankly, miserable. 

A few months ago, he had been having migraines and random fevers just like that. Which probably meant he was actually getting better, because on the last days he had barely been awake long enough to be in any pain. It had been like his body had started to shut down, simply. But now it felt a little like his body was wrestling painfully itself, refusing to go down and bringing misery to his owner. He hoped it went away soon, because it was almost night and-

“Fuck. Mona. I have to go feed him.” He stumbled out of bed, swaying dangerously on his feet, but reaching for his jacket. 

“Aki, wait!” 

“It's fine, I've done this before, he won't notice. At least he won't say anything about it, so it's okay,” he was almost blabbering by then, anxious. “And I can't just leave him!” 

“That's not the problem! Aki, listen to me.” 

“It's my fault,” he mumbled, eyes closed against the brightness of the room. “I can't leave him.” 

“But you can’t go now!”

Akira whirled around, fixating a glare at the blond.

“Stop patronizing me! You can’t tell me what to do!” As soon as the words were out, he backtracked immediately, starting to shake with anxiety. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be angry.” He looked down, shame threatening to swallow him whole. “You’ve done nothing to deserve this, this was absolutely out of line.” 

“Aki, breathe. It’s okay, sit down.” Ryuji reached for a trembling hand and pulled Akira to sit down on his bed, because he looked a little bit too unsteady on his feet, and quite close to a panic attack for having raised his voice. “You shouldn’t have yelled at me, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you’re, like, not allowed to feel angry.” He grimaced, racking his brain after a proper response. 

“Damn, what Makoto said to me on the way here?” he mumbled to himself, trying to remember the group chat from this morning. They had been discussing feelings, and healthy approaches to them, mostly because they could see how Akira had ended up in that kind of dead end. And they definitely didn’t want a repeat of that amongst them. Makoto was all about planning things ahead.

“Huh, it’s like, your emotions are your own, you don’t- you don’t have to bottle up the shit you feel. It’s okay. Sure, you can’t just treat people like trash because of your feelings, but you’re allowed to have feelings. Okay?” It was more well worded when Makoto said it, but as far as he remembered, that was the gist of it. 

Akira seemed to get the idea, though, because he took a deep breath behind his hands and relaxed minimally.

“Sorry for yelling at you.” 

“Okay,” he said, but then he remembered it was a bad thing not… acknowledging what someone did to him was out of hand, so he amended, “I forgive you,” he felt plain weird saying that, but he had promised the team he’d be trying to take himself more seriously.

It had been weird, but it entirely paid off when he heard Akira exhaling softly in relief at him properly accepting the apology.

“Thank you.” His voice was quiet, but the gentle relief in his tone was clear. He appreciated that Ryuji didn’t brush off what he did, didn’t downplay it, and properly accepted the apology because it was due. 

Ryuji felt a little more convinced about this whole thing of trying to deal healthily with feelings, and all of that stuff Makoto had been talking about, and Futaba had been explaining this morning. Hell, maybe Ryuji _was_ making things complicated for those who he loved when he refused to defend himself, and to acknowledge he deserved apologies when they acted wrongly towards him. 

It should have been fairly obvious, but he only really got the idea when he spent all of those hours watching Akira let people tear him apart like that. It was also why they had talked in the group chat, because every one of them could see how they still did that a little bit, and they knew how that sucked for the people around them who cared about them. 

“Do you really wanna go outside?” he asked, because he still felt a little bad for acting overprotective like that. Akira was kind of right, Ryuji wasn’t his boss, he couldn’t just order him around. “I mean, I was trying to tell you, but Mona is in Tokyo right now. He went cuz he wanted to talk to us cuz he was worried about you.”

“Oh.” Akira blinked, taken aback. 

“So, you don’t really have to go out to feed him or anything. And I got worried because you don’t look well, Aki, and I almost lost you tonight, so, yeah.” He put a hand on the back of his own neck, self conscious. “But if you really wanna to go outside and I dunno get some fresh air or something…”

“No... I’m just- frustrated, I guess,” Akira admitted, pressing the heel of his hands over his eyes to try and soothe his migraine. He lay down on the bed again, curling on his side. “I’m just stressed out living here. It’s…” he took a deep breath. 

“You know how I barely even blink when Lavenza told us I was playing a game I couldn’t win? I think it’s because I’ve been doing this my entire fucking life. I’m always wrong here, no matter what I do. It’s… too much.” He had never said those things aloud, and it was liberating in a way. “I’m always on high alert, and I can’t do anything without someone questioning my every move. I can’t fucking have a peaceful night of sleep because I’m scared of my father finally flipping and… I don’t know. My mother knows it’s wrong, but she won’t take my side, ever. I can’t keep doing this.”

His shoulders sagged, and his anger was something else. The fire in his heart had been hurting him for so long it had made him reach a delicate balance between burning with the injustice of it all, and trying to smother the feeling because sometimes there was nothing to do. He had loved being Joker and being able to fucking do something. But there were trickier situations in life, and of course his luck would have it so he was stuck in a situation in which he just couldn’t do anything. 

He felt the unfairness of how he was treated, and it clogged his throat, burned his lungs. But no matter how much he did, how loud he tried to argue, nothing ever changed, and everyone in his home kept trying to convince him he was wrong. Sometimes, the repetition of it made him doubt himself. He was worn out. He didn’t want to feel angry and just struggle and toss and turn and just add more to his misery when his feelings were dismissed again. 

He was so goddamn tired. 

But he also couldn’t compromise, he couldn't just do what his parents wanted him to do, because he was stubborn and he cared too much about his ideals, and he just didn’t want to give up that last piece of his heart. 

He sat up, ignoring the nausea the movement brought along, burying his face on his own hands again. 

He missed Mona. It wasn’t his friend’s fault, and yet, he didn’t give up on staying with Akira, even if that meant living as practically a stray. He missed the cat’s energetic nature, always suggesting new things for Akira to try, always reassuring him it was totally okay not to get it perfect in the first try. Always just there, a purring little thing on the side of his bed every night. Mona’s prickly humour, and his constant company. 

“Hey.” A hand was placed on his shoulder, and Akira’s thoughts halted their anxious circles. He didn’t look up, because the light still hurt. “It’s fine, the dumb cat is with Futaba, and is having the time of his life bossing everyone around again, ok?” there was humour in the blond’s voice, and Akira was relieved to know, but he still worried. He always worried when Morgana wasn’t by his side. 

“I miss him.” The small confession came in a quiet voice, and Akira was surprised with himself for being able to voice it aloud.

Ryuji felt honestly bad for Akira. He had seen how much he valued Mona’s company, and it had been good for him, having that unwavering support all the way back to his hometown. Mona had gone with Akira, when no one else had done that for him. And shadow Akira had confessed, over and over, how guilty he felt for not appreciating Morgana enough. For making him suffer. 

And it was plain weird, anyway, seeing Akira without his cat. It was so natural for Mona to be with him, Ryuji had always kinda forgotten there was an alternative. Even the blond could admit it got a little too quiet without the moody cat. He had also been choked up and heartbroken when Morgana disappeared on them in Yaldabaoth’s aftermath. 

Hell, he had missed the cat too, in Akira’s year away. The jabs, the incessant talking, the cheering on his game sessions with Akira, the bickering. Of course, after their talk in the velvet room, it would probably be even easier, less of their theatrics of bickering and more of them actually just getting each other. Mona was the closest to him personality wise probably. The same tough front and fragile self esteem, the sheer disbelief in being buttered up. The necessity to be loud, to manage the mood. 

Mona had been somewhat of a constant in their lives for a long time now, and it was just weird, not having it. He couldn’t really imagine how it was for Akira. Ryuji knew he was super attached. It didn’t always look like it, but he had seen Akira’s memories, how lost he looked when he was all alone in the attic, staring at small scratches on his table, pawprints on his desk, unwilling to go out for anything. 

“He’ll be back soon,” he ended up saying, because he wanted to make Akira feel better, but he wouldn’t lie to him. Ryuji was a shitty liar anyway, and he felt a little sick imagining himself abusing Akira’s trust in him. Honestly, he had no idea about their plans yet, but he knew the stubborn cat would choose to remain with Akira, no matter what. 

“Yeah.” The answer was a bit unsure still, but this bit like Akira was trying to believe in his own words. 

“Now take this blanket and get some rest, or Mona will scratch my face off if you get sicker than this,” Ryuji said, trying to lighten the mood.

Akira gave him a small smile, and the blond sighed in relief. Something always loosened up in his chest when Akira smiled. 

"I'm fine, really,” he said, bundling up in the offered blankets.

He was shivering under the two blankets, his face flushed, chest rising and falling a little too quickly.  
  
"Fine, my ass.” The blond huffed. “You really need some rest."  
  
"I'll rest when I'm dead."  
  
Ryuji’s face fell at that, and his expression did something complicated, but this close to crying. Akira startled, not having expected such a strong reaction. Takemi had been fine with joking about him dying. And he did spend a lot of time with someone who had tried to make him die. It didn’t… feel like such a big deal? But he knew, with an undeniable certainty that Ryuji cared very much, and that he had been really desperate about saving his life. 

"Sorry,” he rasped out.

"I-it’s…” He took a deep breath, getting up to turn off the lights. Akira still had a migraine after all. He felt a little bad for having the lights on for so long, but he kind of forgot about it when Akira started talking. “Don’t joke about that. It was really shitty, y’know? Ya really scared us,” he murmured in the darkened room.

Akira stopped for a moment. He remembered, suddenly, the raised voices of his friends, Lavenza’s presence on his side, a sudden and haunted silence in the velvet room. He flexed one of his hands, rubbing nervously at his numb fingertips. He had… held something, and then there was nothing, but then… His chest spasmed once, and he pushed away the surging memory. Something had hurt, and badly. 

“It’ll get better soon,” he ended up saying, trying to reassure the blond.

Ryuji normally would trust anything Akira said on almost any subject, but, about his health? Definitely not. He pulled out his phone and began asking for help. 

“Try to get some sleep. I’ll try talking to your doctor.” 

  
  


As expected, Futaba easily got Akira’s doctor’s number. Ryuji asked a few questions about fevers, and headaches, and anything he might find useful, before Takemi’s patience ran out. Turns out Takemi hadn’t mind explaining a lot of things, and she was interested to know about Akira’s health. She wasn’t overly affectionate, and it was a little difficult to say how much she cared, but she let him ask as many questions as he wanted, told him to call if anything happened, and waved off any fee he tried to ask about. 

It hadn’t been even half an hour since Akira fell asleep, when he suddenly sat up with a desperate and pained whine.

“Aki, what's wrong?” the blond panicked, eyes darting over his best friend, trying to understand the sudden tears in his eyes, and the way his breathing trembled.

Akira hissed in pain, doubling over himself, one hand hovering over his own chest. 

“H-hurts,” his voice broke, and he quickly rid himself of his shirt, breathing heavily. 

He had a hand-shaped burn on the fair skin of his chest, blistering and full of liquid. Ryuji felt his stomach sink down to his feet, recognizing his own handprint, knowing exactly how electricity had danced in his fingers and made that burn. 

Akira’s face was grim, but not surprised. 

“I assume it happened then. Defibrillation.” Akira tried for a light tone, but his voice was tight, and he barely dared to breathe, since any tiny breeze seemed to set his skin on fire more than it already was. It was pure, liquid _agony_ , and he was starting to freak out.

Everything had its consequences, apparently.

Ryuji winced. That looked painful. He should be expecting it, Mona had said the whole point was reaching his physical body, but he wasn’t really thinking at the time. That probably meant Akira settled more firmly into his body, and the associated memories were starting to really come back with it. ‘Probably’ being the key word here, because that metaverse stuff was damn weird all the time, and Ryuji had zero confidence in getting it right. 

Looking back now, he had seen movies, and he knew people didn’t put defibrillators directly over someone’s skin. There should have been a gel or something over the skin, and he wondered now if that gel was supposed to be there to prevent exactly the predicament they were having now. With Akira’s rotten luck, though, Ryuji was willing to bet he’d have a burn regardless of if they used the gel or not. 

“W-what do I do? It hurts.” Akira’s voice trembled as he tried to stead it, panic seeping into his tone. 

“I’m calling your doctor.” Ryuji dove for his phone, and tried to inform a very suspicious Takemi about a somewhat extensive burn on Akira’s skin, caused by an electric discharge, and that no, they couldn’t go to the hospital. 

Fortunately, Takemi was used to oddness, and she had learned that Akira had a talent for very weird injuries. She was good at overlooking the whys and just giving them a course of action.

“I-is it normal?! Ok. Ok. Oh my God, how do I even get one cream with antibiotics for burns? What?”

Wait. She sold those?

“Akira, where is that good cream you had for burns in the metaverse?” 

Akira pointed to a small bag hidden in his bookshelf. Ryuji reached for it desperately, pulling it open to reveal lots of creams and meds. He rummaged around, phone still held precariously by his shoulder, until he found a cream with a name that matched Takemi’s recommendation. 

“You genius son of a bitch,” he breathed out, floored by his immense relief.

Akira gave him a weak, but smug upwards tilt of his lips. 

“Isn’t there any stuff for pain he can use? Okay. Gotcha. Yeah, he has that too. Really, thank you so much, doc, you’re the best.”

She sent a message to Akira with the details, probably doubting their capacity to remember everything, or she was just being overly careful, it was hard to tell. The procediment itself wasn’t overcomplicated. Hydrate the skin as much as possible, keep it clean, he could use anesthetic over it with no problem. 

“Do you want me to do it, or you do it yourself?” Ryuji asked, after dumping the items Akira asked for on the bed. 

“Lemme.” Akira reached for the cream, sitting upright and bracing himself. 

He winced at the first touch, very lightly spreading the cream over the blister. His breathing spiked up, and he bit down on his lower lip hard. It _hurt,_ his skin still felt like it was on fire, and every tiny movement heightened that burning pain. He smothered it in the anesthetic cream after he had a good layer of the cream supposed to help actually healing the burn. 

He didn't dare moving before the anesthetic kicked in, and his skin went numb. Just then, he let out a shaky breath and sat back again, trying not to jostle the blister, desperate to avoid bursting out the accumulated liquid. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but he wanted it to be a lot later. 

He very gently put some gauze on top of it, smothering more cream on top of it, to balance the amount of cream that would get sucked up by the fabric. He really didn’t want that going dry any soon. For that reason, he decided to wrap it up with some bandages, to hold the gauze in place and avoid rubbing off the cream when he moved around. As far as he remembered about burns, it should be alright. He just had to be really gentle about it.

He reached over for the bandages, and started wrapping it around his chest. When he had to pass it to his back, though, he realised he would have to move his arm up, which would probably put too much tension on the burn. He paused for a moment, with no idea about how to get out of his present predicament.

“Can I help?” Ryuji sheepishly offered. Akira had said he preferred doing it himself, but it looked really complicated to maneuver without risking bursting the blister. “I mean, it’s hard reaching behind your back.”

Akira blinked a few times. He had forgotten he could ask for help. More likely, he hadn’t really gotten that Ryuji’s offer for help at the start was still standing, even after he declined it once. 

“Yeah. Please.” He handed over the bandages, feeling a bit awkward. 

It was a lot easier, though. Ryuji knew what he was doing, and if Akira just sat with his torso slightly leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees, there was enough room for the blond to maneuver the bandage into the loosest, but still functional, hold he could. He added one layer, and then another one, carefully. 

It felt so sickening, knowing he had hurt like that someone he loved. And it had been just dreadful, wrapping up that wound. Akira’s torso moved gently as he breathed, and it just… It was a physical reminder of just how frail life was, and everything that Akira was was being held together by breakable bones and burnable skin. By a stuttering heart, and by the gentle and small movement of his chest as he breathed. 

Ryuji hurt him. He didn’t let him die by wrestling him violently back to the surface. He didn’t regret it, but he couldn’t forget that his touch had hurt who he loved. 

It was just when Ryuji was securing it close that he spoke up.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry, but…” 

“I know,” Akira said, gently. “Thank you for doing that. You saved my life.”

“Wish I could’ve done it without hurting you,” he whispered, because he couldn’t quite make himself say it louder. 

“Hey.” Akira’s right hand cradled his nape, pulling him close, carefully as not to let anything touch his bandaged chest, and brought their foreheads together. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here. I’m alive.” His voice was quiet and terribly gentle, as if he was afraid the other was going to break if he spoke any louder.

Akira had always been terribly observant.

Ryuji took Akira’s left hand, and watched the whole scene blur through his tears. His breath caught in his throat, and, all at once, everything was too much to take, and he had been holding it in since they entered Akira's grief stricken heart. He couldn’t do it anymore. 

The first sob ripped out of his chest painfully. 

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Akira had pulled him even closer, letting him cry on the gentle curve of his neck. His thumb started rubbing soothing patterns on the blond’s nape as he held him through it. Akira’s voice was deep and kind while whispering comforting nothings. He clearly didn’t really get why Ryuji was so upset, but he kept consoling him, because Akira had always been kind, and he had only grown kinder with time. 

Akira had let him hover so close to his injury, trusting the very hand that gave him that burn, and Ryuji just cried harder. 

“Shh… It’s okay.” He turned his head slightly to drop a kiss on the top of blond locks. 

Ryuji needed embarrassingly long minutes to get himself together. It was a little easier with the small and reassuring words Akira kept whispering, his warm presence and steady breathing.

“I’m glad.” The blond heard him saying. “I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t done this for me.” Akira pulled away a little, and he was wiping away the tears from his best friend’s face. 

Ryuji took a deep breath, still a little shaky, but relieved. It had been so terrifying, that small moment in which Akira lay there, unmoving and lifeless. Just then, with him by his side, breathing and alive, Ryuji felt safe enough to let himself think back on that moment.

“I prayed for you then,” he confessed, because he needed someone to know. “To any spirit that could give us that somethin’. I haven’t done that stuff in years. I mean… I went to the shrine at new years, went through the motions, but… I’m not sure I’ve ever put my everything into it, y’know? But when your heart was failing right under my hands, I did. And when you came back…” 

Akira had always made him believe in the most absurd things. In talking cats and palaces made of hearts, in changing everyone’s lives. In people’s hope being enough to change everything. In benevolent Gods who’d hear him pleading for a life. Hell, Akira made Ryuji believe in himself, and what a crazy thing that was. 

Shadow Akira had told him how, when he thought he was going to die at Maruki’s palace and Ryuji turned up to shield him, he remembered staring at his best friend’s back and suddenly believing in love. 

Ryuji had sat there on a small bed in the countryside, and held the hand of a boy with a heavily bandaged chest, alive despite everything, smiling softly, and he believed in it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof so much comfort, so much fluff, I'm a little embarrassed. I hope you all don't find it terribly boring alskjdlak 
> 
> I put Akira's birthday date somewhere near the end of the year, but before Ryuji got there, because I don't believe he'd have that much luck in him lajdalkjs They are still kinda figuring out their relationship, what to do and what not to do, and I feel like Ryuji would have freaked out a little after getting into Akira's pants for the first time, like, oh God, am I fucking it up already?? WHy didn't we talked about this before, am I as bad as my father forcing people into things they don't want?? And, all of that. 
> 
> Also, wow, we're finally getting some romantic content here. As some of you pointed out in the last chapter, we finally had a kiss! And now we have more than kisses, just a little bit, them testing the waters. I had been wondering if I should put it there, but then again, considering their characters, I don't think they'd have pulled away, knowing they will get separated again soon. Also, Akira thirsting over his himbo bf? Ryuji having flashbacks of all the fucking times he saw Joker's grin and felt tempted by the devil? I just had to do it. As well as bring attention to Ryuji's sharp teeth, because they always draw him like that, and we should take advantage of what canon gives us sometimes alksjda
> 
> Ryuji might appear more chill than in game, but I’d like to write considering the one year passing. At the beginning of the game Ryuji was very angry, very easily pissed off, and he didn’t notice he was scaring other people when he got angry. He ran off more often, and he got in more messes. As the game continues, he starts thinking more about the future (seeing his senpai getting back to doing track in college, and, at the very ending, he himself deciding to get treatment for his leg.) he also starts apologizing for when he loses his temper, like when he shouted after they were unfairly accused of killing Okumura. He calls Akira to apologise, and he tells how he will be calling Futaba to apologise as well. 
> 
> He starts very angry and sullen, then he begins to open up to Akira and we see him starting to smile, and then one day he laughs for the first time, and he keeps improving. I’d like to take that into consideration when writing about him a year later. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s 100% there! But it does mean credit where it’s due, and he did calm down a lot, and matured, in the course of one year. So, I wanted to write him as that kind of person, who decided to get back on his feet and he kept stubbornly doing it. 
> 
> About the other thieves, I feel like they'd have a wake up call from all of that. All of them still don't deal all that well with all of their emotions, but they've just seen how devastating that can be, and how hard it is for the people around them who care. So, I think they'd start planning for that not happening again, thus, the talk in the chat group, with lots of informations provided by Makoto and Futaba, Haru explaining it in a more emotional way, and everyone just committed to it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, apologies for the delay, I had problems and I couldn't log in until today, even if the chapter was ready beforehand... On another note, as you might have noticed, the estimated number of chapter changed (for the last time lasjdalksj). I was a bit too ambitious with how much I could fit into one chapter, and when I noticed the word count I had to redo the math. 
> 
> This chapter is twice longer than usual (also bc I took twice the time to update), so take your time (wow, in game reference!). But, according to the last pool I made about that (with like 5 votes, but it's the thought that counts laksjdak most people don't mind longer chapters, and prefer this kind of division I do - each chapter containing a closed theme, so it can be easier to pick up where we left off when it updates next week) 
> 
> TW for mentions of sexual harassment and emotional manipulation. 
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone still following this story!

Akira finished hiding the medical supplies, while Ryuji composed himself enough to start talking idly again. About this new manga he was reading, about the other thieves, small things, because he missed just being with his best friend. Akira missed him right back, the pointless conversations, the afternoons spent reading manga, the games they used to play together. 

The old console he bought in Tokyo was still in the same box. It was boring playing alone, without even Mona’s shrieks when he was fighting a boss. He had already forgotten how it was, to be with a friend.

He smiled as he sat back on the bed, right by Ryuji’s side. It was fun, being like that. It was a weird thing, how merely having company could make things feel that better. 

He fidgeted a little. There were at least three conversations he was avoiding at the moment, and it was making him anxious. But things were going well, and he decided to delay them just a little bit more.

He rubbed his own neck, trying to get rid of the tension in there. 

“We should take a bath, and have some food,” Akira eventually said with a sigh. Ryuji went first, because it just seemed like a waste to wash away the perfectly good anesthetic they’d just applied on his burn, and Akira went second, when his skin started prickling again. One hour was the limit to that cream to hold off the pain when the burn was that recent. He should apply a lot before going to sleep.

Ryuji was helping him bandage his chest again while they discussed dinner, both freshly showered.

“Do you wanna buy something to eat?” the blond asked.

“We would have to go a bit far from this neighborhood if we don’t want to risk things getting back to someone I know." 

“I can cook something.” Ryuji didn’t know enough to pull off a complete meal, but he could cook a few simple dishes. 

“Let me do it.”

“You sure?”

“Don't worry, it's actually better than before.” He smiled as he put on his shirt again, hiding the bandages from view. “I'm getting better.” 

“‘s cool if we use the kitchen? I mean, dunno, you said that your parents might show up…”

“Mother should be back only three days from now, and today father will come home late,” Akira checked his phone while they were walking out of the room. “Actually, he just said he’s going to be back only tomorrow morning,” he informed, with a content smile on his lips.

“Sweet! What will you do? Curry?”

“I don’t… have all the ingredients.” He hadn’t eaten curry in a long time. At first, he thought he would have gotten sick of it. But then, three months since he was back in his hometown, he tried Boss’ recipe and cried when he put a spoonful of it in his mouth. He looked at the silly T-shirt Futaba had bought him, and he wished so desperately for the family he left there. 

“Aki?”

Akira blinked away the tears that had started to gather on his eyes. God, he missed Futaba and Boss so much. 

“I can make you omurice,” he offered as they went downstairs. He had rice, eggs, and chicken, and the vegetables. It wouldn’t take too long, but it still was a somewhat respectable meal. And he could show off a little bit. He was good at making them.

“For real?! I can’t wait, thanks, dude!” 

Akira took this opportunity to restore some of his pride, and properly showed off. 

“Woah! So cool, man,” Ryuji said as he watched Akira quickly mixing the egg on the pan, and somehow making it gain a very uniform shape while not letting it cook all the way to the center of it.

It was fun. He tried teaching Ryuji the little flicker of the wrist necessary to roll the egg on the pan, but the blond put too much force on it and almost crushed the whole thing. 

After that, Ryuji was happy watching him doing acrobacies with their food while he went after the plates. Akira found himself smiling all the while. It was… nice, having company. 

Akira plated his creation, and reached for the ketchup. Truthfully, he didn’t know yet how to make a proper sauce for it, despite being able to achieve an acceptable level of cooked-on-the-outside-but-gooey-inside. Enough so he could actually do that cool thing of cutting it open and let the egg mixture fall open over the rice. Honestly, he just tried to learn because it seemed kind of cool, and he was always picking up weird things to distract himself. 

Well, it paid off, Ryuji absolutely loved to watch him do it, and he didn’t comment on the ketchup. Akira was glad he chose that recipe.

After a moment of consideration, his lips curled into a grin and he turned to Ryuji.

“So, what master wants me to write on his omelette?”

“Dude!”

Akira was laughing at his own joke, and at how red Ryuji was. 

“I might have spent too much time frequenting maid cafes in Tokyo,” he said, casually shaking the bottle. “I went so many times I actually won one of those pictures with a maid of your choice,” he said with a small laugh.

He settled for a heart over it, just to tease Ryuji. The blond, as expected, turned a very bright shade of red, and hid his face between his hands. 

“Man, I’m feeling embarrassed just looking at it.”

“I didn’t take you for the shy type,” Akira teased, dropping a lazy line of ketchup over his own omelette. 

“W-well, I wouldn’t feel embarrassed if I had ordered one in a cafe, it’s just… y’know, business. But… geez, I dunno, I’m having a homemade meal that my boyfriend made for me, and he drew a heart on my omelette.”

Akira felt his own face blushing, and he covered his mouth with a hand, looking away. 

There was something just so funny about how damn embarrassed Akira could get about entirely innocent things that just got Ryuji. He snorted at their sheer awkwardness, and ended up choking on his water. 

Akira, to his credit, tried to help by thumping his back, even if he was snickering at the ungraceful display of his boyfriend. 

“That’s what you get for laughing at your leader,” he said, but got up to get Ryuji another glass of water. 

As he stood by the sink, he looked up and caught sight of his own reflex on the windowpane. There was a noticeable reddish mark on his neck, rapidly turning slightly purple.

“Damn, I’ll have to cover that up.” He reached up, probing it lightly.

“Cover what?” Ryuji got up, curious about what the hold up was about. 

“Oh my God, Aki, how did you get tha-“ it took him one moment to get it. “Hell, Aki, was that me?! I’m so sorry, man, I shouldn’t have bitten you.”

“I like it. When you bite me,” Akira said simply, shrugging.

“Damn, Aki, this is gettin’ kinda purple.” Ryuji winced, starting to feel bad about it. He just wasn’t thinking, and now he hurt Akira. 

“It’s not…” Akira paused, a little embarrassed. He had been pretty on board with all of it, so he wasn’t expecting Ryuji to not get that he had liked receiving love bites. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“This is a bruise, Aki.”

“Yeah, but I liked it.” He would normally tease a little, but Ryuji sounded really guilty. He was pretty sensitive about hurting people he cared about, and he had been on the edge since he saw the size of the burn he left on his best friend’s chest. “Huh… It’s, you know that slightly ache you feel after you run? It is technically a hurt, but it feels good right?”

“Right,” the blond slowly answered.

“This is like that.” 

“Oh.” Ryuji turned the idea over in his head for a little, but Akira’s argument was pretty sound. “I guess it’s okay then.” He rubbed a hand on his own neck, looking away.

“Definitely okay.” Akira’s voice dropped a little, and he relished on the small blush on the blond’s face. It made his heart race, and a warmth spread on his chest. 

It made him think of how good things could be. That maybe he went through some bad times, but it wouldn’t last forever, and someday, someday even someone like him was going to be okay.

It was such an odd thought, that went through his heart with the same feeling watching the sun rise gave people sometimes. Like a miracle, and a revelation, but also something so ordinary it was comforting. Something natural, that he could have everyday, without having to sacrifice anything for it. 

He swallowed dry the racing heartbeat in his chest. It felt like Ryuji had given him something so precious, that notion of a happiness that wouldn’t hurt him, that didn’t cost him anything. It felt unfair, somehow. 

“Isn’t there anything I could do for you?” he ended up asking as he sat down by his side again. “I feel bad that you keep helping me, and I do nothing for you.”

He was genuinely surprised when his best friend laughed self consciously, and when his bright voice got down to that serious tone he had sometimes. 

“I don’t think you realize how much you did, and do for me, like, all the time.”

Akira frowned, chewing thoughtfully. He didn’t remember doing a lot of things in particular for Ryuji. 

“... if you haven’t transferred, I’d have dropped out of school,” the blond admitted, looking away.

“What?”

“I tried really hard for my mom, but… It was bad, Aki. I was always late because I didn’t want to go. I skipped a lot.” He leaned back on his seat. “You remember, all of the teachers hated me, and my former friends were still mad at me.” 

He paused for a moment. 

“I… I don’t know. I felt like there was nothing good I could do anymore, and… I don’t know. I guess I lost hope.” He looked up at Akira. “When we were in your velvet room, one of your shadows said I gave you hope. But I guess I could only do it because you gave me that before, and… seriously, I don’t think I have ever hoped for a long time.” 

He leaned his chair back, staring at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t… focus on class, because I didn’t know what I wanted to do, I had lost the one thing that I was good at, and my chances at a scholarship, and my friends, and everything.” It had felt like his life was over, and it was somewhat eye opening to be there now, knowing it really wasn’t. 

“Running, exercising, it felt good, I could stop thinking about my dad, and about my mom, and how I was a bad son, and what if I wasn’t there, would she be happier. And then I didn’t have even that, and… I don’t know. There was no point.” And maybe the thing was that sometimes it just seemed like there was no point, but… that had been the beginning of so many wonderful things he had now. 

But when it had been happening, it had seemed so hopeless, until Akira showed up and everything changed.

“You remember how I’d be up until very late. And it doesn’t make sense, right? An athlete, who does morning exercises, who freaking goes jogging before school starts, should be better at sleeping early, right? And I used to. I… I don’t think I’ve ever really been a night owl. I like waking up in the morning and going for a run, and starting the day with a bang.” He shrugged, something wistful in his voice. 

“But I felt anxious about going to school, so I couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t want to study, and I didn’t want to worry mom…” He sighed. “I was thinking of dropping out. Like, seriously. And I tried so hard to get into Shujin, it is a pretty good school, but I was ready to give up. I have never been the best at studying anyway. But then you showed up, and we talked a lot, and I found my place again. What I mean is that, really, you have no idea how much you help people.”

He finally turned to look at Akira, and there was a small smile for him. Akira felt a little bit like his chest was too small for his heart.

“I-I’m… glad I could help.” It felt so little, to say just that, but he couldn’t word it better.

Ryuji’s smile widened to a sunny one. 

“Now I’m back at sleeping early, and going on a run in the morning. Well, it’s more of a walk, honestly. But it wakes me up, and it makes my blood pump, y’know?” He had things to look forward to, and it was easier to keep strong. “I knew I was doing a bad thing to myself going to sleep so late, and going to classes, and sleeping through half of it… It’s not the same, I wasn’t rested after napping through classes as I’d be if I had just slept through the night.”

He paused, looking down, a hand rubbing his own neck. 

“I’m not saying I’m doing this for you. It wouldn’t be fair, hell. But you made me wanna try harder. I mean… There were things I wanted, and you spent last year trying to tell us we don’t have to take anything lying down. And… well, I’ll admit, I wanted to feel more equal. Like, I didn’t want to be the lazy bum, and pull you down, y'know? I want to go to uni, and… be a PE teacher. I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but...”

“I’m happy you decided to take your life back. You will be a wonderful teacher.”

“Well, they might get in my case about the dyed hair, but it’s a problem for tomorrow me.”

“I hope not, I like you blond,” Akira said, bumping into Ryuji’s shoulder, trying to make him smile. He had never even seen Ryuji with black hair, and he would probably dig it anyway, but he knew Ryuji only said that to avoid the excess of praise he was getting, and Akira was having none of that. 

“Now you’re just messing with me.” The blond scoffed, but there was a small smile on his lips. 

Ryuji offered to wash the dishes- because he could just hear his mom’s voice telling him it was the polite thing to do and he wasn’t going to disappoint her like that, not to mention that Akira was kind of a sick person and it would be shitty to dump all the chores on him- and because it felt awkward just standing there doing nothing. 

Akira dried off and put away one plate, one spoon and one glass, leaving just one set of utensils on the drying rack. 

Covering their tracks up to the last detail, Ryuji belatedly realised, feeling a small amount of dread in his stomach. 

He brushed it off though, because Akira looked in considerably high spirits, and they still had the whole night for themselves. 

After they brushed their teeth, Akira dug out the makeup Sojiro bought him last year, and applied a careful layer of foundation and corrective on the love bite on his neck 

Then, he lent Ryuji more comfortable clothes to sleep in, and they sat side by side on the bed, which was when Ryuji started showing him some funny videos he saw. They laughed together, holding hands, and it was comfortable and intimate. Sharing jokes, and just spending time together. 

They kept at it for hours, late into the night.

“Ugh, I’m tired,” Akira eventually mumbled, his head resting on Ryuji’s shoulder, their hands still clasped together. He was already almost dozing off. He felt relaxed, too, something loosening up in his chest at having laughed that much, and having spent some time with someone he loved.

It was also strangely nice holding hands like that. 

It was a simple sort of happiness, which was soft and gentle, and he was comforted by it, but anxious at the same time. It was just something that started to happen more often since Maruki. Akira had already been extra wary since Okumura, because, as Igor had told him, when you reach the top, things could only go down. 

Okumura’s case had been so awful. It had been such an amazing night, all of his friends in an awesome amusement park, having the time of their lives. And then they had to watch Haru’s father die on live television, and they were hunted down, everything turned on its heads to them, and he was arrested. 

It had been the worst, but by the end Akira really thought things were looking up again, and maybe, just maybe, this time everything would go well. Of course, then Maruki took his friends from him, and spent months making him drown in guilt, and nothing good happened, and he was getting punched again-

He shook his head and tried to stop thinking about those things. Ryuji had checked his phone, and was stretching his arms over his head.

“It’s late anyway.” It was already almost one in the morning, but they barely felt the hours passing. “Maybe we could, like, try to go to sleep now and wake up early, before your dad shows up.” 

“Yeah…” Akira breathed out, lying on his side. He was feeling pretty exhausted, but he was glad he managed to stay awake for that long, and enjoy Ryuji’s company better. 

He noticed when the lights went out, and he dozed off only to wake up briefly when the mattress dipped slightly. His bed wasn’t big by any standards, but he got used to sleeping in a much smaller space when he was in the attic, and it was easy enough for Ryuji to lie next to him. He offered up his arm as a pillow, and Akira laid his head on it, curling up on his side. 

“Night.”

Akira was asleep almost as soon as the words left his mouth. He still looked pretty exhausted, and too pale. He was obviously trying to fight it, even going out of his way to actually cook, and doing things despite being pretty much dead on his feet. 

Ryuji couldn’t sleep. 

It was to be expected, maybe, since he had napped for a few hours, and he was antsy. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why, but he was anxious. Maybe because it felt wrong how Akira had helped all of them to get their lives back together last year, and yet here he was, with his own life all over the place. 

Well, it wasn’t exactly all over the place, to be fair, Akira was doing his very best even if he didn’t have a lot of opportunities open for him, and considering his failing health. His grades had taken a bit of a toll, because even the class representative had been up to throwing away the homework and notes the teacher had sent for Akira when he stayed home sick. And there were just lots of questions that couldn’t be answered without the notes because they were about something the teacher only said in class. A class which Akira hadn’t been able to attend. He had to squeeze in hours of study at home while burning up in fever, and he was still first place during most of the year. 

His sleep had seemed too deep when Ryuji found him this morning, closer to a coma than sleep, and it was concerning. 

Ryuji wanted to help, like he had been helped. The team had been on the move, of course, but they had yet to hold a meeting.

Then again it has only been one day, and Akira was still struggling to stay awake through it, so it was probably alright. Ryuji was just on the edge because of all of what had happened, and how close they came to losing Akira. And the burn, and everything. It had been a very emotional day.

So he stayed there, wide awake, a hand on Akira’s back, keeping track of his heart. He didn’t know what was normal for people with arrhythmia, nor he knew if Akira really had it or if it was going to be a messed up temporary thing because of the velvet room. He wasn’t even really monitoring it, he was just… keeping a hand there, and making sure Akira was alive. 

Akira kept sleeping on his side, curled up into himself and shielding his chest with his arms. Ryuji was kind of grateful for it, because that lessened the chances of him bumping into the blister and bursting it open. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, and he was almost giving up on sleeping entirely when the heartbeat under his hand skyrocketed. 

There was a sharp inhale of breath, and he could feel Akira’s heart thumping a painful rhythm against his ribcage. 

“Aki?” he called, because he was pretty sure Akira was awake now. The heartbeat under his fingertips wasn't slowing down, but the rapid breathing was being forced under control. He sat up, fumbling for the lamp on the bedside table and allowing a dim light to permeate the room.

"Sorry. Nightmare,” Akira said quietly. 

"You okay?" If Akira hadn't told him, he'd never known. His boyfriend didn't toss and turn in his sleep, nor he cried or anything. He was asleep one second, then abruptly awake the next, without any sudden moves. Startled out of his slumber by whatever horror his dreams brought, but deathly quiet. 

He wondered how much of an ingrained habit that was, for him to hide his feelings. He wondered how someone could be this conditioned to silence, and not even notice it themselves. 

"Yeah..." he answered, shaking his head. 

"Wanna talk?" 

"Not now, 'm tired." He gave a small reassuring smile. 

"Okay," he whispered, but held Akira close, mindful of his wound. He buried his fingers in black curls, petting his hair and rubbing his back. 

There was the tiniest hitch on his boyfriend's breath, and he was being hugged back. A wet patch started to grow on his shoulder. 

He forgets sometimes how vulnerable Akira was to genuine kindness, no matter how small it was. 

“Sure you don't wanna talk? You don't have to. But if you wanna, I’ll listen.” 

Akira took a deep breath and shook his head. Maybe later. ‘Never’ sounded awesome, but he promised he was going to try and talk more about what bothered him. 

It felt wrong, crying. Even more so for something so small. When was the last time Akira cried for himself, before all of that? And look at him now. 

He quickly rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his own shirt, and forced himself to stop. It was a lot easier, and a lot harder with Ryuji right by his side. He had less reasons to be sad with him there, but there was just something about that easy affection, that impossible gentleness, that caught Akira off guard every time. 

Akira closed his eyes again. He felt tired down to his bones. He wished he wasn’t, because going to sleep again so soon after a bad dream couldn’t be a good idea. But he was just so tired, and he had never been that good at self preservation anyway. It was more important to get enough sleep than to get a good night of sleep, and if he was going to stay awake every time he had a disturbing dream then he wouldn’t have slept one single night since last year.

He sighed, trying to calm down his heart. His night was kind of ruined already, so he decided to put out of the way one of the conversations he was avoiding.

“Ryuji.” His best friend turned at hearing his name being called, and Akira hesitated just a little when he looked into his eyes. But he couldn’t be selfish. He had to think what was better for Ryuji as well, because the blond could be too impulsive and forget the consequences of his actions. “I’m… really happy you’re here. But... you have to go home.” 

“Aki-“

“No, I’m serious.” He stopped the rant he knew was coming. “You have your physiotherapy, and classes. It’s still a school day, and you’re here with me.” There was no real reason for Ryuji to stay with him. The blond had come over because he had promised, and that promise was already fulfilled. The others wanted to see if what they did had turned out well, and Akira being alive was proof enough of that. There was no reason for Ryuji to stay. 

The blond shook his head, taking Akira’s hand and holding it. 

“Aki, it’s only been two days. You missed weeks of school last year, you know it’s not the end of the world.” Ryuji didn’t want to go yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Akira, but… it didn’t feel right to just leave immediately. He had time anyway. “There are more important things. I promise I’ll get help from Makoto to get over what I missed. I talked to my mom, and she said I could stay for a few more days. Futaba already said that if we need it, she can fake attest me to have been sick those days.”

Akira blinked at that. 

“You guys thought of everything, huh?”

“Well, the others kinda did.” Ryuji rubbed at his own neck, self conscious. “I panicked and rushed over.”

“Hey.” Akira squeezed his hand once. “I’m glad,” he said quietly, because he didn’t quite know how to explain it had been everything, waking up and living one day with his best friend again. He swallowed down the sudden lump on his throat. 

“I just want you to know that I _know_ you will have to leave.” Because there was no other way around that. Ryuji could stay a few days maybe, but he’d leave eventually. There was no possible plan that could be made to avoid that outcome. Ryuji was going to leave, and Akira was going to be left behind again. “I know, okay?” he said gently, because there was too much guilt in his best friend’s brown eyes, and it just wasn’t fair. 

“And I want you to know that even after you leave, things won’t be as bad as they were before. I… I’m feeling hopeful. Now I have all of that off my chest, it’s easier. I know you guys know, and… It’s a relief. It’s already better.” And it was. Better. Of course, he still didn’t have a plan, but at least he was having more than six hours awake at one day and that was an improvement. Maybe he was going to make it out of that mess. 

“I’ll be missing you, but I want you to keep trying your best on your things. I don’t want this to ruin your physiotherapy, or your grades,” he said, and he still was the same Akira who tried too hard to keep an eye for the people he loved, who got worried and acted like it was his responsibility. 

“It won’t ruin anything!” the blond immediately said. “I’ll… Hell, Aki, I’ll try even harder.” And it was the truth. Just knowing everything they were looking forward to in the future made Ryuji want to do everything. Get back to running again, and finish his studies, and do his best to get the job he wanted, everything. 

“Okay.” Akira smiled at him, and a small weight lifted from his chest. He was honestly relieved the team had actually put some thought into it. He also had Ryuji’s word that he’d go back to his physiotherapy, and to his studies. 

Akira wanted so many things. He wanted all of his friends to succeed, to have good things in life, and to hang out with him without a worry in the world. He wanted to move out, and just leave that town, and go to Tokyo, have his own things, go on a real date, live without a single regret. He wanted to never again have to hold the hand of the boy he loved and have to wonder when he would have that again. 

And he knew that, for every single thing he wished for, he had to put the effort to make it happen. But he was good at putting effort into things, he excelled at having one goal and stopping at absolutely nothing. 

That was a lesson he had learned very well. He had only managed to win against all odds because he was willing to bet everything into it, he was ready to throw his heart and soul into hell if that was what it took. 

The silence stretched for a few minutes, before Akira decided to tackle the next problem.

“While you’re here, I need you to promise to do what I say, ok?” His voice was quiet, but serious. “Even if you think one of my parents said something unforgivable, or if you think my father is making me uncomfortable. I need you to promise me you will stay hidden and follow the plan.” 

“Aki-“

“Ryuji, if you can’t promise me that, I’ll have to ask you to go home.” There was a hurt look in his best friend’s eyes, and Akira’s shoulders dropped a little. “I know it’s unfair, and I don’t want to make you… uncomfortable too.” His voice was softer, and he looked apologetic. “Honestly, you being here is a liability, and I know it. I’m just… I don’t want you to go yet.” And he was being selfish asking for him to stay under those terms, but his heart was this much more open, and he had been able to find it in himself to ask for things out of the people he loved. 

“Ok.” Ryuji looked down, sighing heavily. “Imma listen.”

Akira gave a small smile. 

“Thanks.”

“When is your dad gonna come home?”

“Probably early morning, like six o’ clock. He was supposed to be back tonight, but he was called in for a surgery, and it’ll take some time, apparently. He accepted it because the pay is gonna be pretty good, but he’ll be extra cranky when he comes back.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Akira huffed a laugh, turning over. 

“Yeah.” His smile was still there, but his gaze was distant. In a blink, it was gone. “But since he’s greedy and decided to take on those two procedures, it’ll actually be easier for me. He’ll have to leave again around midday, and then he’ll be back home at like 9pm.”

Ryuji put on his alarm at five in the morning, to be extra sure. He didn't sleep that well, but he managed to catch some hours.

Akira woke up with him, and didn’t go back to sleep. He felt sick, and he was running a bothersome fever, so he decided to skip school again. 

There was a sound of a door slamming violently downstairs, and Akira flinched instinctively, before scowling. He hated how loud noises still got him. How his heart still hiccupped in fear. 

After a silent debate, Ryuji went to hide under the bed. Akira then turned off all lights again, and signaled for him to keep quiet.

Oh. Pretending to be asleep. 

Footsteps in the corridor. 

They stopped in front of his door, and Akira’s heart lurched in his chest. One second, two, too long for it to be a simple mistake. 

Then it continued, going away. Another door being slammed and the sounds of a shower running. 

Akira let out a small breath and backed away from the door, heart still thundering in his chest. He gestured for Ryuji to come out from under the bed. The blond sat down next to the bed, waiting in the darkened room.

Akira silently passed him two water bottles, and sat by his side, pulling out a pile of manga and giving him a small smile. They couldn’t really do a lot of things, but it was incredibly nice to have company. 

They read manga with the lights of their phones, not uttering a word. After an hour of silence, Akira ventured out of the room to check on his father. Asleep. 

He went back to his room, closing the door behind him and sitting down by Ryuji’s side again. After reading manga for some time, they changed to playing games together on their phones.

After a few hours, Akira was getting antsy. He threw his head back on the bed. His head hurt, and he could tell his fever had spiked.

He was out of fever medicine, had been since the day before, but with everything happening, he forgot to buy it yesterday. 

Ryuji took his hand and squeezed it briefly. Akira looked at his side and smiled at him, trying to get across a ‘It’s okay, really’. 

He closed his eyes, trying to soothe the headache and hoping his fever would just go down by itself. His thoughts were just slow and his head felt filled with cotton. 

The minutes stretched into an amount of time he couldn’t measure, and he was only half aware he started to shiver. The air felt too cold against his heated skin, and he felt too sluggish to open his eyes. The hand on his disappeared after a while, but he couldn’t say anything. 

Suddenly, he felt like the world had tipped over itself, and his balance felt all over the place. Everything felt sharp and painful, and the sounds had turned into something confusing and too loud to interpret. 

The cold water brought clarity to his thoughts like a defibrillator brought people back to life. He sputtered, trying to get out, but being gently held back. His lungs were spasming with cold every time he took a breath in. 

“Sorry, Aki. That doctor of yours said to dump you in a cold bath if your fever got worse.” Akira looked at his own lap and noticed he was in the bathtub, still clad in his boxers. Ryuji was hovering by, looking worried. 

“Your fever seemed to be getting bad, so I went out to buy a thermometer and some other things after I heard your dad leaving. And then when I came back you were pretty out of it.” Akira winced at the information. 

“Sorry. I’ll pay you back.” 

“Don't sweat it, man. Just focus on getting better, okay? You gave me a hell of a scare.” 

“How bad was it?” 

“40.1 degrees, you dumbass.” The blond huffed, but the relief was clear in his tone, as he took in his boyfriend’s more alert eyes and his improved speech capabilities.

“Damnit.” Akira rested his head back on the wall behind him, closing his eyes in frustration. 

“Hey, it's gonna be fine.” Ryuji said, softly huffling black strands, receiving a fond gaze from bleary eyes. “You'll eat the delicious pudding I bought you, sleep tons, and next thing you know, you're cured.” 

Akira sighed. He had just started going out with the boy he liked and he was already stuck in such lame situations. It was one thing being seen naked in a sensual position, and another entirely being seen naked when he just looked like a drenched stray. Was negative charm even a thing? If it was, he had it now. Damnit. 

Wait, was he losing his charm? Better check it. 

“Wanna get in with me?” he asked with a smug smile, just because. 

“Dude!” Ryuji almost fell on the tub with him. 

Akira hid a laugh that was just bordering on giggling. 

“What? You went to the bathhouse with me!” Akira said.

“The bathhouse isn’t a sexy place.” The blond frowned, trying to regain his composure. “I mean I’ve looked just a little bit. But anyway, it’s just weird, sitting there with all those wrinkled grandpas, getting scalded with their insane hot water…” Akira winced too. How many times had he fainted because he was too stubborn to get out of the water when it was too hot for him. “ Anyway, a tub’s just different. Or hot springs! Gosh, wish we could go to one,” the blond continued, excitedly.

“Yeah, that’d be nice. We should go.” Akira thoughtfully looked up, considering. There were still so many things he wanted to do. It was a bit weird, looking forward to things, but it was really nice. He turned to smile at Ryuji. “When you go, you can get in with me, since you’re being mean and don’t want to keep your boyfriend company now.” 

“You’re sick, that’d be shitty of me.” The blond swatted at his arm, and his eyes wandered just a little bit. “Damn, why didja say that?!” he complained, looking away quickly. Now Akira said it aloud he was getting all sorts of ideas that he really shouldn’t. 

Akira chuckled at him, but rearranged himself a little on the tub. He still had his underwear on, but he had to admit that his joke made even him feel self conscious. He was glad his face was already flushed from the fever, so his embarrassment wasn’t that noticeable.

Ryuji cupped some cold water with his hands and poured it over Akira’s shoulder, wincing as he clenched his teeth so they’d stop clattering.

“I hate cold water,” Akira mumbled, and he did look fairly miserable, like an unfortunate cat that fell into a pond. “I’ve never been a fan of it, but…after spending a whole day drenched and shivering while Sae kept trying to make me sell you guys out....” He scowled, and didn’t elaborate. 

He was just glad Ryuji hadn’t dumped cold water over his head while he was apparently out of his mind with fever. He was reasonably sure he’d freak out at that. 

“I’m sorry, Aki, ‘s just for a lil’ bit.” 

Akira sullenly cupped a bit of water in his hands, carefully washing his face, but avoiding soaking his hair. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but just ended up shivering. Ryuji touched his forehead with the back of his hand. It was acceptable enough, and he felt bad for having to do that to Akira. 

“Sorry, babe, let’s get you out. No use turning into a popsicle, heh.” Ryuji tried to go for a lighter tone, grabbing a towel he found on the sink and bending down to scoop Akira onto his arms. 

Akira immediately yelped and held both hands up.

“No carrying me. You'll send us both sprawling to the floor and I don't wanna die in my boxers.” 

“Pfff, you think you weigh something?” Ryuji snorted, because, seriously, Akira probably weighed the same as some girls way shorter than him. And, anyway, as even Akechi had recognized, Ryuji _was_ good at carrying things. “I’m telling ya, you lost all of the meat you managed to put on your bones while in Tokyo. Besides, how do you think you got here in the first place?” 

“Oh God, you carried me here.” Akira buried his face on one hand, blushing fiercely. How was that better than waking up alone on the floor after one hour or two he wasn’t sure.

“Yup, and seeing how you ain't having an easy time standing up, Imma do it again. Heave-ho.” 

Akira’s hands tensed behind the blond’s neck, his eyes wide as he was hoisted up. Ryuji barely acknowledged his new cargo, maneuvering out of the bathroom with an ease that made Akira equal parts charmed and jealous. He knew he was heavy. Damn, he should train more, that move was cool. 

Objectively, he knew Ryuji had been working out more, because atrophic muscles wouldn’t help his recuperation at all, and he had been forced to work on his posture so he would stop leaning his weight too much on his other leg. 

Ryuji had told him he used to have a very good posture before breaking his leg, and that after he started slouching to keep the weight off his bad leg. But it wasn’t healthy, and if he really wanted to go back to sports, he’d have to go back to his good posture and regular exercises. It was easier after his leg stopped acting up as much, and he felt a lot better. He had always liked to work out, and now he could do it practically as much as he wanted. 

“Don’t this bother your leg?” 

“Not really, even last year I could still carry heavy things without a problem. I was even going to the gym with you, remember? It was just when I started running that it acted up. And it’s a lot better now.”

It was one thing knowing those facts, and another coming into terms that his best friend was even more ripped now, and Akira was kind of allowed to touch it. 

Ugh, stupid fever. He could have been doing much more interesting things if his body wasn’t still deciding if it wanted to kill him or not. 

Ryuji dumped him on the bed and quickly turned away for him to change clothes. Akira bit back a laugh trying to escape his lips. He didn’t comment on it though, because it made him happy, to be treated like… like a lover? Maybe a little bit like a girl, even though he was fairly sure Ryuji wasn’t thinking about it on these terms. Ryuji probably just felt a little awkward. Or maybe he just remembered Akira told him how his father would watch him changing clothes sometimes and how he didn’t like it. 

It was… Ryuji was obviously different, Akira wouldn’t mind if he saw him without clothes. But it was nice, being extended that kind of courtesy. It was nice how Ryuji didn’t bring it up, just acted as if everything was totally normal, like he did when he was trying to make sure Akira ate, and that he had enough money on him, just in case his guardian wasn’t very nice. 

Akira put on a mercifully dry pair of boxers and another pair of black sweatpants. Then, he braced himself and peeled away the wet bandages, very carefully drying off the skin and reapplying the cream. The blister was still a burning hot agony when the anesthetic wore off, but it hasn't burst yet. Takemi said it might not burst, the liquid could end up being reabsorbed and all of that, but she couldn’t be sure since she hadn’t seen it. But she did tell him to please be careful with it, because if it burst, it could very easily become infected. As later as it happened the best, since the skin that’d replace the burned off one would be stronger, and he wouldn’t have an open wound when the blister opened. It’d lessen the chances of it scarring too.

It had been okay, Akira didn’t move when he slept, and, curled up as he usually lay down, Ryuji didn’t have the chance of accidentally bumping into the blister. It’d probably heal alright without any complications. 

Ryuji helped him tie the bandages close, and Akira put on a white long sleeved shirt. 

The contrast was nice, the whiteness of it next to the deep black of his hair. He looked soft, even more so with how flushed his face was, bleary eyes and messy hair. Ryuji had never really seen him looking like that, not even after his interrogation, and it was this bit reassuring, how Akira wasn’t actively hiding when he was hurt or sick. 

It felt so good, seeing the results of their talks with his many shadows.

Ryuji felt himself smiling, and a relieved sigh left his lips as the thermometer informed him of 38,7ºC. A slight fever, outside of really dangerous temperatures. He offered Akira one cooling pad he bought when he was out, and watched him stick it to his forehead.

Akira sighed, it was pure bliss, that cool relief against his heatened face. And so much more comfortable than a cold bath. 

Ryuji reached for the groceries bags, pulled out a melon pan and offered it to Akira, who smiled with humour. 

“What, no homemade okayu for me?” and it was just a small tease, a joke about how Ryuji was acting like some worried mom. 

“Oh, did you want some?” The blond blinked, the joke going straight over his head. “Well, but I’d have to borrow your kitchen for that, and I don’t know if you're gonna stay awake long enough for that..” 

Akira stopped, looking him in the eye.

“Wait, do you actually know how to make it?” 

“What's that surprised face for?! You think I’d let my mom eat only instant stuff when she's sick? No, man, that's shitty.” 

“That makes sense.” Akira smiled widely. “You really rocking that ‘sweet delinquent style’, huh?” 

“What the eff, dude, my reputation… I ain't no sweet delinquent.” Ryuji mumbled, ears red in embarrassment. “I'm just a cool guy,” he said finally, trying to regain some of his dignity. “By the way, do you want me to slice some apples for you?” 

Akira bursted out laughing, giggling his way into annoying a very embarrassed blond. 

“What now?!” His boyfriend smacked him with a pillow, but that actually made Akira laugh harder. 

“N-nothing!” Akira managed to say, breathless, wiping a tear from his eye. “Man, wish Futaba was here, that is some by the book moe gap right there.” 

“Well, if you're gonna be a littl’ bastard ‘bout it, I guess no bunny shaped slices of apples for ya.” Ryuji retorted, offended. 

Akira's smile fell, all the mirth gone from his face, full attention on the blond. 

“You can honest-to-God peel bunny shaped slices of apples?” 

“Yup. Easiest thing ever, dunno why you surprised,” the blond mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed with the attention. 

“Then, would you please make me some?” Akira asked, very properly, managing to sound and look quite charming despite the fact he was wearing sleep clothes and running a fever since early morning.

Ryuji was second guessing himself, if he really should give in that easily, but Akira seemed starstruck at the idea, grey eyes shining with almost awe, and it was the most sincere thing Ryuji had even seen. It was too cute for words, and the blond had been that child too, feeling miserable with some fever, until his mom appeared with such an interesting snack, and then he was feeling a bit better already. He knew he wouldn't have the heart to deny that to anyone. And the bastard was cute, and Ryuji had a very soft spot for him. 

Besides, considering how damn happy he had looked at the prospect, Ryuji had a dreading feeling that Akira might not have had it before when he was a child. He so wasn't bringing this up. 

“Ok, fine.” He huffed, getting up and rummaging through the contents of the shopping bag to find two apples and a small kitchen knife he bought so he wouldn’t have to roam around the kitchen. He was trained in avoiding trouble inside his home. 

Akira kept watching with interest, oddly excited about it. He was still feverish, pale cheeks flushed with heat, and lithe frame shaking slightly with cold, but he seemed curious, which made him look more alive. 

Ryuji felt a bit self conscious about being watched so closely by Akira's focused gaze. He was pretty sure the other would be trying to copy his techniques, even if there wasn't much technique involved in this. He focused on his task, because now he couldn't have Akira being disappointed in his bunny shaped slices could he? 

It went better than he had been expecting, honestly. His mother liked having them when she was down with a cold, saying something about being reminded of ‘when he was a child, oh, you were such a loud brat, but so cute when you got sick and demanded my special apples’. So, he had practiced, even if that was embarrassing. Damn, he had to make Akira promise not to tell anyone. He had a reputation. 

“Here you go. Now eat it , and then you can have your medicine,” he said, passing it to him and reaching for an onigiri for himself. 

Akira smiled brightly at him, and it wasn't unlike how he reacted when he got a new cute stuffed animal, but it was a bit surprising seeing it. It wasn't very often that he'd smile like that. 

Ryuji kind of wanted, with every last cell in his body, to make it happen again, as much as he could.

“They have really long ears, don't they?” 

“You're a sucker for small animals, aren't you?” The blond huffed. “I can see why you spoil Morgana that much.” 

But Akira wasn't paying attention to him anymore. He was curiously poking a slice with a fingertip, flapping the small ears. 

“Hey! If you don't eat it, it'll become dark and mushy.” 

That seemed to move Akira, and he obediently ate it all. When Ryuji wordlessly passed him a salmon onigiri, Akira ate it too, while Ryuji tucked into his tuna mayo onigiri. The blond kept talking and passing food, and Akira accepted it. 

It was easy to forget that Akira could actually eat a lot. He often ended up not doing it because he couldn’t back then, and lately he had been too anxious and out of energy to really bother. But his normal was to eat a lot. Well, maybe not as much as Sumire, but then again, she did a lot more of exercise. 

Lastly, the blond handed him the small pudding he bought, and watched with no small amount of fondness as Akira brightened up at it. 

Geez, he was adorable. Akira showing more emotions was even lovelier, and Ryuji was weak. 

Ryuji gave him three pills, which he proceeded to swallow dry before the blond could come back with water, like a fucking maniac. 

“What? We dry swallowed pills in the metaverse.” 

“Yeah, but I didn't make it a habit in my daily life, dude. It's uncomfortable as hell.”

Akira rolled his eyes, lying down again on his side. 

He felt a cool hand on the back of his neck.

“You're still a bit too warm.” 

Ryuji was way too comfortable with the routine of it all, and it was clear he really took great care of his mom when she was sick. It made sense, he was always trying to compensate her in any way he could think of. He did groceries for her exactly when she asked for it, and he went as far as borrowing money for buying her a souvenir from his school trip, anything, anyway he could try and help her.

“I've taken the medicine, it's fine,” Akira said, trying to ease his concern, resting one arm over his head and closing his eyes. 

“Your definition of fine sucks, so I’m just gonna wait and see for myself I guess.” 

Akira huffed a small laugh, lightly shoving the blond with his free arm. 

“Nothing about me sucks, I’m amazing. I’m certain you're falling for me all over again. 

“Yeah, man, this sickly white of your face really gets me going.” The blond snickered, and dodged a half hearted slap. “Now go to sleep.” 

Akira mumbled a few words of choice, but snuggled further in his blankets. Ryuji sat down on the floor, back resting on the bed, getting comfortable. He looked back at his best friend, meeting a pair of glazed eyes. 

“What?” 

“I feel bad making you sit on the floor while I’m in the bed sleeping.” 

The blond turned around, resting one arm on the bed for better leverage. 

“I’m not sleepy yet, don't worry, ‘kay? And we don’t wanna get caught by your parents, so I think it’d be better if I stayed awake for when your dad shows up.” There were some mangas lying about that he could read. And he had his phone, which was exploding with notifications from the thieves. 

“You’re right…” Akira agreed, but he didn’t close his eyes nor made any move towards actually getting the rest he was supposed to be getting.

“C’mon, whassup? I ain't a mind reader.” 

Akira bit on his lip, like he really wanted to say something, but he didn't know how. He frowned, but didn’t talk. Eventually, he grabbed the right hand of an unsuspecting blond and disappeared under the covers with his new hostage.

“Aw, dude, if you wanted to hold my hand you just had to say it.” Ryuji laughed loudly, trying to ease the burning embarrassment he felt, paired with a sudden impulse of just squeezing Akira tight and not letting go. 

“I don't know what you're talking about. Now shush, I’m sleeping.” 

“You so ain’t.” He felt silly, talking to a pile of blankets.

“....” 

“How come you gave a triple kiss or whatever that is called, but holding my hand is what gets you shy?”

The lump under the covers pointedly didn’t answer, but Ryuji felt as his hand was squeezed slightly, and then a delicate chin was resting on top of it. He felt himself blushing up to his ears, and wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust. 

While Akira after their intervention wasn’t that different, he was clearly this bit more free about his emotions. And about taking comfort when it was offered. It was heartwarming, and quite a bit adorable. Even though Ryuji had been pining after that boy for almost two years now and it was bad for his health, how cute Akira could get around him.

Well, he wasn’t complaining. He pulled out his phone and tried to distract himself from his racing heart. 

He only had to gush about his boyfriend with Ann for what half an hour at best for his heart to settle down. And then he was on her case about Shiho, the chat was interesting, and Akira slept soundly through it. Overall it was a pleasant afternoon. Ryuji became very proficient in typing with only one hand, because Akira didn’t let go of his hand at all, and the blond just felt bad freeing himself. 

The sun was dying on the horizon when Ryuji startled at the sounds of a phone ringing. He looked up at the bedside table but Akira’s phone was silent. It stopped suddenly, and a man’s voice sounded, which was when Ryuji suddenly realised Akira’s father was home. 

The boy on the bed jerked awake, and hissed as he jostled his burn. The anesthetic had worn off entirely now, and it felt like he was being burned alive all over again. But the voice downstairs was still talking, and getting closer. They exchanged an anxious glance. Akira got up, sliding open the door of his closet and pushing things aside.

“Ok, stay here, and don’t do anything. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

Ryuji stumbled in his haste, and he crammed inside as best as he could. He could stay there sitting up just barely. Akira slid the door shut without any more words, and the blond tried to keep calm. 

After a few minutes, he could hear muffled voices, but he couldn’t discern exactly what they were saying. 

Ryuji started to feel anxious, not being able to see or hear what was happening, so he risked slowly sliding open the tiniest crack of the door. 

He almost crushed his own hand, as tight as he was clenching it. 

Akira’s father was standing there, and his eyes had zeroed on his son’s exposed collarbones. Ryuji desperately regretted not having listened to how that conversation started.

“So handsome. Makes me want to bite you.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Akira was not obvious. His posture was purposefully relaxed, and he didn't look away. He was probably staring at his father’s nose rather than his eyes, but he isn’t looking away. He didn't stutter. He resolutely didn't pay attention to the burning agony of the blister on his chest. His life depended on a very delicate balance. He had needed his masks for a long time. 

“You treat me like this now, I see. I missed so much when you were a little boy. You were so pretty, and you saw me as your hero.”

“I never did that. You know I’ve never really gotten the whole idea about heroes. What makes a hero anyway?”

“I see. You don’t need me anymore you’re saying. You really hate me, huh?” the man, and he had the same messy hair as his son, although cut a lot shorter, gave a meek and sad smile. “I see how that is.” 

“Dad, it’s not like that and you know it. You’re just upset because of work.” Akira swallowed down the anger at seeing that smile, that little show of a pity party. 

“Working is such a joke." His father scoffed, but he seemed happy to be able to complain. "You give your life for a penny or two. But that’s what matters for women anyway, you know? You got to have money. Have you seen that case they showed in the news earlier today? A failure of a businessman put his family inside a car and drove off a cliff when he lost all of his fortune because of a ill thought stock maneuver.”

Of course he did. Pretentious old men who felt entitled, who felt like they owned their family’s very lives.

“I can see why they did it,” Akira’s father said, and the blond stopped breathing.

Was that man entirely out of his mind? He didn’t look stable. His eyes had this edge of madness that was hard to ignore. Has it always been there? 

The thing is, it has. Always small threats, uncomfortable words and touches. Was that why it had been so easy keeping on talking to his soon to be murderer? 

“Don’t you think so?” the man asked, and Akira hesitated. He knew nothing good would come out of it if he said something. “Come on, son, you know how much I value your opinion, and rely on your insight.” Akira sighed. Hadn’t he dug his grave with Maruki like that? Trying to help with his ideas, because someone was willing to listen, but it was all a complicated farce that would explode on his face?

“I haven’t thought much about it.”

“I see, you don’t want to tell me.” And back it was, the kicked puppy gaze, the disappointed gaunt in his posture. Akira felt his temper flaring. 

“I think that’s something only pretentious old men do because they think they own everybody. It’s wrong to choose that for your wife and kids. You have to be pitifully insecure to assert your dominance like that.”

“So, you think I’m a failure?”

“I didn’t say that.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, before his father continued talking.

“Anyway, I think I understand the idea, but you have to be sure you’ll succeed, otherwise you’ll go to jail, right?” His voice was condescendent. “I still don’t get how you managed to live through that, son. You’re so frail and your skin is so pale. I hear they rape people there. You’re an easy target.”

Akira huffed a laugh past the anxious thumping of his own heart, past the instinctive way it raced. 

“Not really. I have lots of acquaintances. One of them is actually a yakuza and he spread the word that no one should mess with me.” 

This time, it was the older man who stopped, something wary in his expression. 

“Hmm, how nice. You should tell him to help me too, if I need it someday.” His smile was deceptifully nice, his demeanor was mild. 

“Sure.” 

“Now, I’m going to have dinner and then go to sleep, because today was a very tiring day at work. Have you eaten already?”

“Yeah. I’m just going to sleep now.”

“Okay then. Now, give your dad a hug.”

He did. Akira’s jaw tightened visibly, and he allowed himself a pained grimace for one moment. A sharp pain exploded just under his bandages. That had burst open his blister, for sure. It hurt so badly it was a little nauseating. But he couldn’t let it show. 

When he looked away, trying to get his mind off the pain, he noticed Ryuji’s stare, and his hand on the gap on the door. Tempted to pull it open. 

Akira’s eyes met his over the shoulder of his father, and he shook his head in a minimal way. Pupils blown wide.

_Don’t._

Ryuji found himself in an impossible situation. He had promised he’d listen to Akira. He had been in a bad home situation before, he knew there were so many ways things could get worse if outside people meddled carelessly. 

But on that bed was his best friend, and lover, and he looked so terribly trapped, so scared. No one had that right to touch him when he wasn’t willing. No one had the right to tarnish Akira’s sweet love language like that. They couldn’t just… ruin the one thing Akira still found comfort in. 

Apparently they could, and they would. 

Ryuji stood there, and he was five again, hiding in a small corner, being absolutely useless. He barely noticed when they were alone again. 

Akira quietly opened the door to his closet, squatting down and peering inside. 

“Ryuji? You okay?” 

Grey eyes were looking at him, concerned. Akira opened his mouth, but the blond shook his head and stopped him. 

“Don’t. Just don’t say it’s fine.” 

“Okay.” Akira sat down by his best friend, taking his hand and thumbing soothing circles on the back of it. ““I just… I don’t like seeing you upset I guess. So I was trying to make you feel better?” Ryuji couldn’t talk yet, so he just gripped it tight. 

Akira’s hand too was shaking slightly. 

“Stupid, right?” He half smiled. “Nothing happened. He just talked.” And messed up his burn wound, but it wasn’t the worst part. The worst was being forced into something that should be nice, that should just feel loving. The worst part was being forced to agree, to the point it became difficult to deny anyone anything. 

Neither of them moved, sitting there with their own thoughts. 

It was kind of soothing, the small space. It felt like they were hidden enough, like they were safe. Of course, it was as silly as a cat hiding into a box, but the feeling was there nonetheless. They stayed there until they heard the door of Akira’s father’s room slamming shut.

Akira jumped a little, but winced with the movement. His sudden expression of pain made Ryuji snap out of it.

“God, I’m sorry. Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“No, my blister bursted open when he hugged me, but that’s all.” Akira shrugged, getting up and digging out his medical supplies. “I should take a look, and then put on some more antibiotics on it.”

He sat on the bed with a tired sigh, and began working on his bandages, a blank expression on his face. 

Only when Ryuji sat next to him again, and went to tie off the bandages, he could see the tiniest crack on Akira’s demeanour. He wasn’t breathing. 

“Aki, breathe.”

He felt him swallowing dry, and the smallest hiccup of a breath trying to get past his throat. He forced a deep breath, and shook his head with eased practice. 

“It’s okay. I just… I hate his perfume,” he said with a scowl, opening up his window. “And… I got a bit used to being with you, and it caught me off guard. It’s fine.” He spent too long off guard, too long not expecting the worst out of someone who got too close. 

“It’s been like that, lately. Since he got his ego bruised by that woman.” Wasn’t it like that always? Wasn’t that why Akira had had so much trouble last year, trying to deal with people who wanted to hurt him? Because there were lots of people who were just like that, they’re nice and polite while things go their way, and when they don’t… it’s not their fault that they lose their temper. Akira made them do it. By having friends and going out helping people with his new found powers, instead of seeking revenge. By not accepting another reality ruled by someone who wanted to decide what was better for everyone without asking anything. 

That was always the trick, wasn’t it? Everyone could be so good, if people just agreed with them. It wasn’t their fault, so they’d never apologise. The problem was with other people. 

Akira wondered why it took him so long to understand that it was fucked up. People were always allowed to think whatever, and feel what they felt, but they were always responsible for their actions. Pretending their actions were other people’s fault was just an elaborate lie. 

He sighed.

“When I came back, and I was physically stronger after all the metaverse business and gym and whatsoever… He told me that even so he could beat me up, if someday we fought.” And Akira still didn’t get why he said that. “I said no way. He said he knows me, and a fight between us would end with one of us dead.”

Ryuji felt himself shaking to his core. He had looked at the man. Maybe other people would fall for the kind man act, but Ryuji had always seen it. He had seen it in Maruki, and he hadn’t seen it in Boss. He was good at gut feelings, and this time it wasn’t telling him anything good.

“Aki, I don’t like this. He’s… Can you just come with me? I’m scared for you,” he confessed, in a low voice. 

“If I do, he’ll just show up in Tokyo. I might be an adult now, but he would stalk me. What are the chances of me getting a restraining order on him? With him being my father?” They both knew the justice system was a joke. It was so bad at protecting people who needed it, and so quick at bending for the whims of the powerful. “As long as he thinks I’m under his control, he will stay here. We will have to play the long game.”

“But what if he does something? Aki, I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“I don’t think he will.” Most of the time, at least. On some days, when things got a bit out of hand, Akira wasn’t that sure. When his father's gaze fell onto his lips, and Akira felt his stomach drop to his feet, he wasn't so sure. “Surprisingly enough, my arrest is helping me. He had mentioned once or twice how he’s scared of getting arrested so he never pressures women. I just need to get out before he realises the police is useless.” He huffed a bitter laugh.

It wasn’t even subtle, the small comments about his body, the vague threat lurking under all of the words. 

“It’s not about sex, I guess. It’s about invading someone’s space, making them afraid. It’s about being told no, and ignoring it I think.” It was about power, and maybe that was why Akira hated the established order so much. Why he’d give anything to kick up a racket and turn everything upside down, stop those who’d abuse power. Why he hated being controlled, why he hated authority so fiercely. “He could pay someone. He could just get it on with his wife. But he wants to make me uncomfortable and scared, so he knows he controls me.” 

The defiance on his eyes were just as fierce as it had been when he had downed his mask in the metaverse. 

“But that’s the thing, he doesn’t. And he never will.” How could he ever expect to control someone like Akira? He was too stubborn, too willing to risk everything for what he believed in. 

His father would never succeed, but that didn’t mean Akira could get out of it without any scars. 

“I’ll have to play the long game. It’s kinda how my life tends to go I guess. All of those stupid games of cat and mouse.” Fake Igor. Akechi. Maruki. “If I play my cards well, I don’t have to lose anything. Of course, I could try and run away, but I’d have trouble finishing my education, and getting a good job. Well, before I knew you guys I wouldn’t have anyone to turn to, and I’d be on the streets. And then you know the drill, I’d be risking everything I’d be risking here, plus I wouldn’t even have a functional shower.” 

He was… brutally practical. Akira had counted his last coins to keep going in Tokyo, and he knew just how expensive everything was. He had looked it up before, of course, he had always thought a little bit about running away, but it wasn’t very feasible. When he was younger, he didn’t even understand why he wanted to run away, and he had always been too good of a planner to not know it wouldn’t work. He’d be returned to his parents anyway. 

And after Tokyo, after he understood better why he still felt so off… He had a very solid knowledge of how difficult it’d be to run away, how expensive everything was, and how many other risks came with it. Now he knew his friends had his back, and that would help him think of something else but… There was still the problem that his father would try to find him, if Akira gave him the impression he wasn’t under his control anymore, and Akira would never have peace. 

“And, well, if he does do something, I’ll figure something out. Probably fight him off and then run away. And if he doesn't do anything, I just have to pretend for a while, and then go away without him suspecting anything, so I won’t have to look over my shoulder the rest of my life, y’know? And.. I don’t know, what if I just run now, and he took it on my mother? She hasn’t been the best, but I don’t want her dead.” Drove off a cliff, or whatever it took the fancy of her husband. 

“It wouldn’t be your fault.” Ryuji scowled, but didn’t dispute the notion. He also couldn’t wish most people dead. 

“Yeah, probably, but… I’d like to avoid that situation.” 

“Yeah, I get it…” The worst part was that Ryuji did get it. It wasn’t easy, getting out, finding out how to make the fear inside his home to go away.

“Yeah, I want to leave here by the front door, and know I’ve put every piece into place so I won’t be followed. I don’t want to keep living in fear after I leave here. I want to close this chapter of my life for good, even if that means it’ll take longer to do that.” And he believed in that, truly. It was just that sometimes, he kind of wanted to just get away, not caring if that meant he’d be forever living on the run. 

Akira paused for a moment, then sighed. 

“I just wish I could at least stop dreaming about him.”

“What?”

Akira snapped his mouth shut, looking mildly surprised with himself for having spoken that aloud.

“Aki?” his voice was small, like he really didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Was that what you dreamed about last night?” And cried over it, he didn’t add.

Akira took a deep breath and tried to talk, but his throat closed right up. His chest felt tight. He tried speaking again, but the mere idea of talking about his feelings sent a new wave of dread down his spine. He'd lose something if he opened up. That was how these things went.  
  
"I..."

He huffed a self conscious laugh. 

"It's weird. I really want to talk about it, and I feel like you'd listen, but... it gives me really bad anxiety trying to say some things aloud."  
  
But… he kind of wanted to say it. To put it out there once in his entire life, and just… maybe find out if he had been making a big deal out of nothing? Maybe because he wanted someone to look at that man and know what kind of person he really was. 

He looked away.

“I dreamed of when he kissed me.” 

Ryuji had the very clear feeling that his heart had just frozen in his chest. A cold hand had gripped it, and it wasn’t letting go.

“I don’t know. It’s… He came into my room, to say goodnight or something. I was in bed and he asked for a hug. I didn’t really see a problem, so I just… hugged him? And I don’t know, then he was… kinda biting my ear? I think I just stood there, but I was still hugging him I think? I don’t remember it that well. I just couldn’t think. Then he kinda kissed my collarbones for a while, and when he pulled away he pecked my lips.”

Word by word of a story Ryuji could barely make himself read. 

“I never told anyone. It happened so long ago, and he never did it again. But I don't know. I didn't want it, but I never really said so, and we were family so it shouldn't be a big deal. I think I've heard somewhere there are parents who kiss their children overseas. Ok, I was twelve, and... we had never done that. And he made sure we were alone, now I think about that. And... the way he kept kissing my collarbones was..." Awful, dreadful, as if someone was poisoning his skin and it was getting rotter by the second. 

Akira swallowed dry, and shook his head.

"Anyway, I don't know why I dreamed of that. I think it's because I realised a few weeks ago he's… a monster. He cares about his ego, not about me. And… he’s never as bad when mom is around, so I’m not even sure if she really knows. And if she would ever believe it.” It took even Akira years to acknowledge that fact. 

“I just don’t know why he did that.” He looked away as his voice got smaller. “If… if he really wanted, he would have… something worse should’ve happened already, right? So I kinda dismissed it, because… it could be just my imagination? I didn’t have anyone to reach out to, and you know why I don’t like talking about my feelings to other people anyway. I wasn’t sure if it had been wrong.” And oh, how easy it was to guilt trip people who didn’t know their boundaries. Who never had the chance of having that taught to them. 

He was silent for a moment, craning his neck a little to look out of the window.

“I dreamed about it sometimes, but… it felt like I was the one in the wrong? Like I was the one looking at it in a… perverted way. I was… kinda terrified that if I was dreaming about it, it meant I had liked it, that I had wanted for it to happen.”

His hands were shaking, and he felt a little out of breath. Like he couldn’t really draw the air in. It was so weird that his body insisted on doing that. It had been ages ago, and Akira was over it.

He gave a half smile. 

“You guys must've done a very good job at the velvet room. I would have never told you.” He plopped down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I kinda thought I’d just never tell anyone about this, ever.”

“Aki…” Ryuji’s voice trembled all the way in that small syllable, but he had to tell him. “You didn’t want it.” Ryuji knew how those thoughts fucked up people. He still felt a little bad about being a burden to his mom, and being a troublemaker and making things difficult for her, but he knew his dad was a fucker. 

His mother had done a pretty good job at making him get that, that his dad was in the wrong, how he was wicked and cruel. It was probably easier because Ryuji _and_ his mom had been taking the beatings, and he knew she didn’t do anything to deserve it. It was easier to put things in place like that, seeing his mom, who was so good and so kind, being punched for things that weren’t her fault. 

It was easier to see how he too seemed to get punched at random, just because his father was drunk and in a bad mood. Of course, Ryuji could admit he still had a warped concept of getting punched, because for a long time it had brought him some satisfaction. If he was getting punched, his mom wouldn’t be, and he could take it anyway. 

But he had never wondered if his dad was _right_ , like Akira was doing. Ryuji had been afraid, and he had hated the man, he had wished for him to be different, and then wished for him to disappear from the world, but he had never ever pondered if he was in the right. He didn’t have a problem saying aloud his father was a bastard and that he was a bad father, and that he was wrong. It had been hell, and he had cried a lot because of that, he just never had a problem recognizing his dad was an abusive fucker. 

Ryuji wanted to punch Akira’s father’s teeth in, he wanted to just grab his head and smash it against the wall. He could feel his blood boiling with disgusted rage for that depraved little man. 

But his anger was more easily tamed that night, because he was thinking back on his own father, and his stomach lurched in a cold drop at just imagining getting violent and frightening Akira. It wasn’t enough to make his hatred go away, but it was enough to keep him in place and focus on his best friend, on being on his side. 

“He didn’t give you a choice, and that was horrible and wrong. He didn’t have the right. He’s an asshole and an abuser. You keep dreaming about it because it hurt you.”

Akira didn’t utter a word. 

“He crossed a line, Aki. You can’t do this to a kid.”

Akira looked up at the ceiling, his gaze far away. 

“This is… messed up, right?” His voice was soft, almost gentle. Almost breaking. “This is not how things were supposed to be.”

“No. It’s not.” 

Akira’s jaw was tight, and his expression was both grief stricken and a little bit angry. He felt wronged. Still scared, but… 

There was a lump on his throat.

It was… oddly terrifying, seeing the truth. He had felt uncomfortable about things, but he had never really made the connection. He had been absolutely fine with making out with strangers, and he had been more than okay with Ryuji so far, but… If he was to notice a pattern… he always tried to take the lead. He didn’t let himself be crowded. As everything else, he had difficulty trusting other people with his vulnerability. 

Because it had been exploited before. He had let down his guard and something bad happened. He just… stayed still, couldn’t avoid something he wasn’t expecting. 

But, exactly as his feelings, not trusting people with physical closeness and vulnerability was also draining. He had allowed himself to be pulled into hugs by Ryuji in the last day, and… It was soothing, being able to trust. 

He felt… torn up inside, like he could finally see the raw and open edges of a wound he didn’t realise that had never stopped bleeding. He felt angry. Repulsed. Wary. A little bit like he was going to fall apart. It hit him all at once, and the feeling of a shell covering his skin was gone suddenly. 

Turns out there was a difference between not being hurt and not feeling the pain. He didn’t know emotional pain could be so much alike shock. Turns out he had to look at the wound to start fully feeling the pain. He had been aware of it, at some level, but he was doing his best to ignore all the signs, to push past it. He was too confused to really get past that and feel the pain. He had been able to numb it, but it wasn’t gone. There was a very distinct difference between not being hurt and not feeling the pain. He had wondered about it before, but the answer came quietly to him at that moment. 

“Sorry, can we just go to sleep?” he was beyond tired, even if he had slept through the afternoon. It was always taxing, having to come up with lies like that went against everything in his heart. And his heart was still a slowly healing thing, that still had to go through some more to finally get some peace.

After they got ready to go to bed, they laid together again, Akira's back to the wall, because he just couldn't sleep with his back to the door, and Ryuji still didn’t know what to say. It was always like that for him, his feelings were intense, and he reacted first and thought later, hot blooded as they said. He had managed to tell Akira his father was wrong, and that counted for something, but…

He felt cold in his heart. He wanted to do better reassuring his friend, and he wanted to just… hold him tight after all of that. So he could feel less guilty about not having stood up for his friend, even if it was under his request.

But he felt uneasy about it, because he had seen too much of Akira just not knowing how to say no. And Ryuji wasn’t confident at all in reading the mood, and just guessing all the time.

“Now, you gotta be honest with me, kay? I tell you the truth, you do the same, and we avoid the bullshit. Deal? We talk about what's up, always.” Ryuji knew he wasn’t good with nuances. He couldn’t read Akira’s mind, and the one special thing they had going on, what Akira’s shadow had personally confessed to him, was how unfiltered they could be around each other. 

For Akira, not being perfect, feeling at ease to poke fun at him and tell him stupid jokes. The simple trust on his best friend, the solid knowledge Ryuji just wasn’t one for tricks, and for lies. Ryuji was hot headed and impulsive, he was more likely to blurt out a truth he was trying to keep a secret than to lie and manipulate, and Akira felt safe in that. 

For Ryuji, it was the safety of Akira’s understanding, it was the trust they built that allowed him to just be quiet around his best friend. To just tell him about his feelings without being scared of being seen as weak. 

But all of that depended on a kind of trust that could just be blown to pieces if they didn’t keep telling the truth. If Ryuji started second guessing if Akira was hiding that he was hurt again. 

Akira took a deep breath, and his quiet voice was solemn enough for Ryuji to know he was giving his word. And Akira was too much of an idealist to not keep his word. 

“Deal.” Just as he said it, Akira was suddenly taken aback as he softly remembered promising something like that before. He remembered sitting on a cell, holding Ryuji’s hand and… promising to talk.

“Okay.” The blond took a steadying breath. “Can I hug you?” 

Akira was silent for a moment. 

“I'd like that.” 

Ryuji opened his arms, and Akira snuggled against him, resting a feverish forehead on his friend's collarbone, and sighing as he felt arms locking around his shoulder and waist. 

He realised he loved hugs. He really really loved them. It was amazingly soothing being held by someone he trusted. He could feel something in his heart gently falling in place, healing. He wanted more of Ryuji's hugs. He had a very nice grip, tight, but gentle, and his solid build was reassuring and safe. Akira loved it. He wanted to sleep feeling that safe everyday. His anxiety eased its grip on him, and he could actually rest. 

He had hated being forced to hug his father, but he now realised he actually liked hugs. They could be soothing and safe and wonderful. He didn't think he would be comfortable with just anyone hugging him, but he liked Ryuji doing so. 

It should be such a small thing, feeling safe at home, but it wasn't. 

His best friend was a solid barrier, all hard muscle shielding him from the door, and from anyone who could come in and hurt him. Akira breathed in, and out, one arm thrown over his boyfriend's torso. He felt safe. It didn't really register before how wary he had been, how anxious. Now it was gone, he finally understood how on the edge he had been living. How utterly alone he had felt.

He had felt scared and helpless after his father said something, or did something, hundreds of times. He had closed the door and curled up in his bed and silenced his voice. There would be a hole in his chest sometimes, and he’d feel so trapped, and he’d cry sometimes, not until he felt better, but until the indifference in his heart was bigger than the sadness trying to creep upon him. 

There was a gentle and soothing hand on his back, and he had never dared imagine having that. 

His vision blurred, and a single tear slipped past his control. 

“I don't know what's wrong with me.” He huffed a wet laugh, wiping it away. “I just keep crying.” He didn’t use to, there was no point anyway. He had always been so good at it, at keeping quiet, and grinning when he was supposed to. He had had fun, defying the odds, and risking his life, and smirking like he was having the time of his life. And he had been, really. Things were far from perfect, but he had loved their heists, and their silly conversations, and all of the stupid shenanigans they got up to. 

It had been a hell of a year. He had been content, and even angry, melancholic.

But maybe, the last thing he had never been allowed to be was vulnerable, and everyone felt vulnerable once in a while. He just hid it, far away from the surface until everyone just forgot he had feelings. It felt weird having them out in the open, and crying felt a little like a defeat. 

But Ryuji had seen his heart, and he knew enough to know that Akira crying was actually an improvement. 

“If you’d cried when you needed to, you wouldn’t be having to make up for all the missed times now.”

Akira stopped for a moment, considering his words.

“... You cried for me. When I told you why I was put in probation. You said it was unfair, and you cried in my place.” For someone he barely knew. “I didn’t know what to do about that, but… I don’t know. I think I felt a bit more like I could trust someone like you, who would cry over other people’s problems.”

“It was worth crying for. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Akira smiled. Just because if he didn’t, he might cry again. 

“Aki, I know how this feels. I know.”

It took him years to understand that, to put a name in the helplessness that he felt at the time, for him to be able to think back on his own terror. And it was only because of his mom that he really got it, and he felt so useless, knowing how she was having such a hard time and she was still helping him get through it. 

He felt stupid, for having to have that pointed out. Of course his father was a scumbag, a fucker who just knew how to drink, and got violent. It was all on him. Of course it was, and Ryuji felt useless for needing his mom to make him get that. He felt indebted. It should be so obvious, if he just had been smarter then he wouldn’t be a burden to his mom. 

But it was something he learned that maybe Akira hadn’t. And… looking at things on the other side of the equation made it all this bit more clear. Maybe he wasn’t that bad of a son, for not understanding that himself, if someone as amazing as Akira had problems seeing it too. Maybe his mom was right, and even the most mature and smart of the children would still struggle to understand how their own parent could hurt them like that.

“What’s happening to you here in this house, it’s not right, Aki. And it’s not your fault. It’s really okay to cry.”

Akira huffed a small laugh.

“I know.” His voice cracked in that small effort of a sentence, that tiny and insipid lie. “Of course I know that.” His breathing crumbled, and there was this small noise as he immediately fell apart in his best friend’s arms. 

Tears dripped down, one after another, and he couldn’t stop. His chest seized up, and he let out a small noise that sounded quite painful. His throat started to hurt from trying to bite back the sounds of his crying. He tried to breathe, and just stop it, but the small amount of air he tried to take broke down into a sob, and the tears just wouldn’t stop. 

He didn’t even know why he was crying anymore. 

Maybe because, for the first time, he was just genuinely sad that so many bad things happened in his life. He still thought the future could be better, but he was just… heartbroken to acknowledge everything. It just put everything into perspective, and he could suddenly see how messed up his life had been until that point. 

It hurt to think he still had so many more days to live in that house, it hurt that for whatever reason, no matter how much he suffered, no matter how many days he spent in jail for crimes he didn’t commit, it was never enough. Why was he born in his family? Why had he received a lost hand from the beginning in everything he did? 

Lavenza had told him, from the very start, that he was bound to an unjust fate. Almost zero chances of winning. Heartbreak after heartbreak, and after he thought it was finished, he was thrown into Maruki’s hell, and after he thought it was finished, he was thrown into his town’s hell. It just felt like his entire life had been a bad thing followed by another, with only the smallest reprieves between each hit he took. 

He cried because it felt unfair, and it felt too much, and he had never once complained about it, but it had been eating him inside. 

Even the comfort of the arms around him was just a tiny reprieve. Ryuji had to leave, and Akira understood that. He knew every small word of comfort he received now he would have to desperately guard in his memory, enough so it would last him months. 

He cried because he had been so alone all of those years, and he had met so many people and he let them hurt him, because he had been too stupid to understand there were lots of things that just weren’t his fault. 

He sobbed in his best friend’s arms, his fingers gripping the blond’s hoodie, just above Ryuji’s heart, face buried in his chest. 

He cried because he’d have to let go, and he was scared. 

Every tear that slipped and ran warmly down his face was a part of his regret that they couldn’t have ‘now’. He just wanted to move out right away, and rent a place, and he could have Ryuji over. They could play games and kiss lazily in the afternoon sun invading the living room, they could have all of the thieves over, Akira could have Mona back, he could go over and see Sojiro and don’t feel scared. 

He wanted to never leave that embrace, he wanted to just fall asleep like that every night for the rest of his life. He wanted to love and be loved, and to be close to friends who cared about him. 

But he couldn’t have it now. Even if he ran away, he wouldn’t have that. With no job and no education and the fear of his father following him anywhere he went, it just wouldn’t help at all. He’d have to let Ryuji go home, and he couldn’t have Mona with him, and everyone he cared about wouldn’t be with him. And Akira would have to hold on, as always, he’d have to live with that hope of better days that he had never really seen, but in which he believed. 

The hand on his back was still rubbing gentle circles, and Akira hugged him tighter, until something inside his chest felt a little more in place. It felt good being able to trust someone like that. 

He calmed down after long minutes of sobbing. Just a few tears slipped, landing softly on the fabric of the shirt he lent to the blond. When that happened, and when he stopped shaking, Ryuji pulled away enough to look at him. 

His eyes were red from crying, and his face was flushed. Akira felt worn out, but the deep breath he took steadied his heart and his chest didn’t hurt as much anymore. 

It felt a lot like the city after a gentle rain. Wet asphalt and a cool breeze, bright spots of lights muffled, the darkness something gentle and soft. Relief, a breath of cool air, water for the yearning leaves of a tree trying to blossom. It felt like a cleanse. Like starting over. 

“Tomorrow, let’s call everyone. We should have a meeting.” Akira’s voice was a little hoarse, but he sounded calm. 

There was the thing about letting things hurt. It was easier to take a deep breath and keep going forward. He was ready now, to talk it out, and think of a way to get out of his home. 

Or maybe, the truth was, he was going to think of a way to leave that town, and finally go home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this suffering will end I promise. But it was something overdue to happen, Akira had never let things hurt, and he needed to, in order to keep moving forward. About Ryuji crying over Akira's conviction, I took it out of the animation, bc it was a cute moment *laughs*
> 
> And here I was thinking I could just fit this and more in one chapter lkajlskdjad I was really tempted to just cut off unnecessary parts (like the whole sequence of Akira being dumped in the bath, it alone has like 3,5k words. ) But at this point, what is a few words more, whoever crazy person who would pick up such a huge thing to read wouldn't mind 1k or words more or less lakjsdlakdj I'll be honest, I've been agonizing over it a lot, because I hate leaving loose ends, but at the same time I really didn't want to make this too long to read... But well, it is what it is. 
> 
> Ahh some good and old fluff. For the omurice reference, please watch master Kichikichi Omurice motokichi on YouTube. He shows how to make it, and it's quite impressive to watch. His recipe is really good also, try it out if you can. Akira was caught doing lots of embarrassing things, so he decided to do something to show off a bit lakjsdlkasd And some opportunities for him to flirt a bit, because he had to see if he still has it hahahahaa 
> 
> About the hickey, Akira is awakening to new interests lakjsdlaksj I just found it fun to have them learning new things about themselves, healing, and growing, and building their new relationship. About Ryuji dropping off of Shujin, he tells that to Ann, in the Thieves' Den, that he'd have dropped out of school if Akira hadn't transferred and then befriended him. Ryuji was having it really bad then.
> 
> About the bunny shaped apple slices, they're quite easy to make, but I just think they're neat. Like, it doesn't change the taste of it, but someone took the time to cut it in a fun shape for you, it's cute. About the okayu, it's a classic for sick people, probably because it's hella bland... I hc Ryuji taking care of his mom when she has a cold bc he comes off a bit as a mama's boy in game, always thinking of her and helping out w groceries and stuff even if he has to cut short whatever he's doing to do so.
> 
> Also, poor Takemi, Ryuji bothers her all the time lajsdklajs but then again Takemi knows how much of a troublemaker her guinea pig is, so she's used to it. About the bathhouse comment, I really feel like this is true. When you're in a public bath with lots of people, even if they're naked and you find the person going with you kinda attractive, there isn't much of a sexy vibe there. Oh, about the degrees, it's in celsius since it's Japan, sorry for my non metric friends. Akira's fever was a bit higher than 104ºF, which it actually dangerous, hence Takemi's advice. 
> 
> About Ryuji carrying things, it's kinda interesting how his leg only really bothers him when he runs for some time, but he's fine going to the gym, and carrying heavy things for his friends.
> 
> About Akira's father, I've already explained how I constructed his type of emotional manipulation (gaslighting, guilt, too much unwanted proximity from an older man which ends w sexual harassment - in contrast w Sojiro, and allowing kinship w Ann and Shiho), vague but constant threats- all of things that happened to Akira in game and he had a hard time dealing with because he just isn't someone who knows his own boundaries when those kind of things are involved. Akechi's death threats, even not knowing he was the black masked figure, held a weight, since he was working with the police and was openly against the thieves. But Akira never really had anything to say, and there were dialogue options about pretty much anything, but never about the threats, or the insults, or about Maruki just throwing all the blame onto him for everything that would happen if reality was what it should be. Or the whole 'please don't hate me', when the person in case is doing a lot of things that are hurtful, and Akira was entitled to feel hatred if he wanted to. Also, I wanted to keep the whole cat and mouse game dynamics Akira had been stuck with in one way or another, with all of his enemies in game. The anxiety of waiting for the other's next move, the stretches of silence between one move and another, the huge emotional hurdle that is to keep that going for so long. 
> 
> And Ryuji having to deal with it, of course. The ultimate test of his loyalty to Akira probably. Because how hard it is to watch it happening, but having to trust the other person with their word that he shouldn't do anything? But I think Ryuji, even if he's impulsive, he can keep his word, and he trusts Akira a lot (he allowed the casino plan, and he took orders well in the metaverse). And it's an opportunity for him to grow, like, a moment in which he just has to keep his cool, and not act impulsively. They're both learning.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Just one more chapter to go. Heads up, this chapter is twice as long since I spent twice the time working on it... A lot happened, so... 
> 
> Anyway, smut alert for this chapter! 
> 
> And my sincere thanks for everyone who's still around ❤️

On the next day, he did as promised, and went to call everyone.

“I feel kinda nervous about talking to everyone at once,” he confessed, because he was going to try and not lie to Ryuji. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to his friends. It was just that he was good with them individually, but when everyone got together he tended to take a backseat and talk less. Everyone was so energic, and it was awesome, of course, he loved them, but it could be overwhelming sometimes. “I’m really thankful. It’s just… weird I guess. Making my problems other people’s business.” 

“We nagged you the whole year with our stupid problems” 

“They weren’t stupid.”

“Well, yours ain’t either.” 

“Thanks.” It was just weird, being taken care of. It was vulnerable, and difficult to accept. But he knew there were so many things in life that just went better with other people with him. Sae was right, in the end, Akira decided to have a team, despite the liability of it all. And, in the end, he only managed to win because he wasn’t alone. 

Living was every bit as difficult as saving mankind, apparently.

“Hi.” He said as the video call connected, smiling at the effusive greetings he got. 

Everyone was talking all over each other, excited to finally see and talk to him again after everything. He felt a little bad for having put it off for so long, but it wasn’t because of them. He just wanted not to be too much of a mess while everyone else was trying to be productive.

As he expected, the conversation soon turned to a direction he wasn’t exactly looking forward to. 

“So… you’ll be leaving your home soon, right?” Ann asked, anxiously. “I bet you could even come back with Ryuji-”

“It’s not that simple, Ann,” Akira sighed, leaning back on the headboard.

“Akira, I know you don’t trust the police, but we really should do something about this.” Makoto looked worried, and quite a bit frustrated about not being able to do something to solve their problem.

Akira took a deep breath, trying to put into words his situation.

“Makoto, you have to understand, I can’t have this blowing up on my face.”

Ann opened her mouth to argue, but Futaba cut her off.

“It’s complicated. When those things happen. If you try to meddle without thinking things really thoroughly…” It had been like that, with herself, and with her childhood friend.

“Sometimes people won’t believe the victim.” Yusuke was looking away with a conflicted expression.

“And that’s… it’s more than about who’s in the wrong,” Haru’s gentle voice added. “If you're influential, you can buy the silence of too many people, and nothing will change. Not for the better, anyway.” 

Ryuji rubbed a hand across his own face.

“Yeah, when that kind of asshole gets pissed, things get ugly really fast. We really don’t want that.” 

Akira breathed, and it was pure relief. They understood. 

“Yeah.” And it wasn’t that serious, probably. He didn’t dare say it aloud, though, because he didn’t know what to do if they agreed with him. Deep down, he knew it was serious, he knew his dad was unstable and could really harm him, but it was difficult to break the habit of downplaying his troubles. They were already doing what they could, he didn't want to worry them needlessly. “And for all overbearing my parents are in close proximity, it’s about control for my father, and about an ideal of perfection for my mother. If they think I’m moving out to study, mother will be pleased, and father as well. Because if I act like it’s under their permission, father will still feel like he controls me, and like I care about his opinion, so he won’t come stalk me or something.” He knew how that felt, looking over his shoulder and permanently worrying he’d get caught. He didn’t want that for the rest of his life. “And, if I’m far enough to be able to lie that I have a girlfriend, mother will be elated that I’m not gay, and she will leave me alone. I just need to get into a good university in Tokyo.” 

Makoto nodded.

“Yes, that could work. And I can help you study. I did gather some fame being good at teaching people to cram, so we’d probably get awesome results. And I could introduce you to some professors, we can really make this work.”

Akira sighed. 

“Yeah. I know studying is really my only way out. Friendship is important and all, but first and foremost I need to get a good job.” 

“Do you already know what you want to study? And what kind of job do you want with it?”

He paused.

“I've... considered politics.” He rubbed his own neck, a little sheepishly. “I need a place for Joker to breathe. He's me.” Akira wanted to make use of his ability to read people and negotiate with them. He still wanted to change things, and out of everything he saw, Yoshida’s way stuck with him. A career in which he could still fight for change, in which he would still have the thrill of convincing people, even when he got old. “I feel suffocated when I can never act like that."

Haru smiled. 

“I think it’s wonderful, Akira-kun.”

Mona perked up. 

“You should talk to Yoshida-san, then. He’d be happy to help, you know.”

“Yeah, that could work...” Akira said, looking thoughtful. He wondered why he had never considered asking for help out of people who had sincerely offered it to him like that. “But where will I live? Tokyo’s apartments are pretty expensive, and I don’t think my part time jobs will cut it.” 

Futaba piped up. 

“Well, Sojiro can be your guarantor for the lease, and there’s actually some good apartments around if you don’t mind walking to the station for a bit longer. Also, do you have a few universities in mind? We should try to find a place close to it.” 

Akira said a few names, and Ryuji brightened up. 

“Hey, your first choice is close to the university I’m aiming for! They have a good sports department. It’s the one my senpai went to. It’s far from my house so I’ve been looking up the rent price in that area.” 

Akira blinked, feeling his heart racing. 

“... we could… rent a place together, then?” he tentatively asked, swallowing dry. “It’d save a lot of money.”

“Hey, you’re right!” Ryuji smiled widely at him. “My physiotherapy is almost over anyway, I’ll be going back too. And it’ll be a lot cheaper! We won’t even need two rooms!”

Futaba grinned on the screen. 

“So… don’t you guys have anything else you wanna tell us? An announcement maybe?”

“What- oh.” Ryuji blushed, and stuttered. “Right. Er…”

“We’re dating,” Akira said, with a small grin. It was a bit weird saying that, but they have asked. And he did feel more at ease with them now, without hiding so many things from them. 

And it was heartwarming, really, how happy everyone was for them. He looked away for a bit, when he couldn’t quite contain the small smile pulling on his lips. 

“What about you, Ann?” Ryuji asked, leaning close to the screen in anticipation. Ann had told him she was going to talk to Shiho, but he didn’t know the outcome yet. “Any news?!”

“Do you think I’m a useless gay like you, Ryuji? Don’t answer that.” She immediately added when the blond opened his mouth. “I called her, confessed, and I’m very happy to announce that I have a girlfriend now!”

“Shiho will be coming back to Tokyo for university, and we were talking about renting a place together too.” Ann looked really happy, and she promised to help them pick out an apartment, since she’d be looking into it as well.

Mona said he’d be coming back later on that same day, and he’d go back to Tokyo when Akira was going to go back. Akira was quite relieved to hear that. It was… He just functioned better if he had someone to take care of, and he missed the cat a lot. It was comforting, Mona’s steadfast loyalty in staying with him.

He let out a shaky breath as the call ended. It felt awesome seeing his friends again, and not hiding things from them. He had a goal again, he had things he wanted for himself, and he shouldn’t stop for nothing. 

He picked up his phone, to check if Makoto had already sent him the links she promised, when his eye caught sight of the date. He stopped dead on his tracks, swallowing down his rising anxiety.

Right. He had to look forward, and let go of everything else.

He was silent for a long moment.

He took a deep breath, getting up and opening the window. Trying to feel more centered with the cold wind on his face. It helped a little. 

He kept looking out of the window. He seemed oddly frail, his thin arms holding himself against the windowsill, gaze far away. 

“Aki?” Ryuji called, concerned. 

Akira smiled softly at him, something a bit fragile in his eyes. 

“The weather’s nice today. Let's go for a walk.” 

It was a school day, but Akira didn’t look particularly concerned about being found out skipping. Ryuji asked about it, and received a shrug. 

“The school won’t even call home anymore, and it’s kinda well known even for police officers that it doesn’t really matter if I go to school or not. I can’t get a job here, and not even a university degree would change that.”

It was about being a non entity in a strange way. 

“I believe in our plan, though.” He gave him a small smile, trying to reassure Ryuji. “So… let me show you this town before I leave it for good.”

They left Akira’s house, and started walking down the neighborhood. 

He passed the exact spot where he had crossed paths with Shido, but didn’t stop. He had had closure about that issue a long time ago. Shido had been the reason he even went to Tokyo, and it had been the best year of his life so far. He confronted the man and changed his heart. It was a closed chapter in his life.

And it was something Ryuji already knew the story of, and the place itself didn’t tell a lot. He continued to walk east, until they reached the small graveyard uphill.

The blond held his hand and followed. 

He was confused, and quite worried, but Akira didn’t look upset, just… quiet, introspective. But Ryuji had always known he’d follow that person to the end of the world without a single question anyway. 

They stopped in front of one of the tombstones. 

“Grandmother,” he said, suddenly, and it felt a little like Ryuji was missing half the conversation, but he let Akira continue. “She had always been wary of my father. She had a beautiful garden. It’s a shame she isn’t here anymore.” 

He bit his lip. She was one of the few people he really missed.

“She’d have liked you.” And in the end, that’s why he had wanted to bring Ryuji there. He wanted to share that with him, the fact that he had someone who loved him, who’d tried to look out for him, and he didn’t appreciate it enough. “She didn’t care much about what everyone thought.” He felt horrible, hiding Ryuji away as if he was a dirty secret, but he wanted to protect him, and that would always come first. 

Ryuji reached for his hand and squeezed it, because he didn’t know what to say. Akira’s expression softened. He felt selfish, but he wanted Ryuji to see, he wanted someone to be a witness of that part of his life, before he walked away for good. 

He showed him every place he could remember. A small river where Akira had gone fishing with people who weren’t his friends anymore. His middle school. Where his grandmother used to live. The path to his high school. The house of his former best friend. A park where he used to go with his mother as a child. The small forest bordering the town, and the clearing where there was a patch of wildflowers in spring. 

All old things that couldn’t bring him happiness anymore. Unmoving objects and places, that had no memory of him. 

They stopped at the clearing, and lay down on the grass. 

“Woah, I’ve never seen a place like this,” Ryuji said, staring up at the trees and relaxing on the soft grass. He could hear a brook somewhere nearby. It was quiet and peaceful.

Akira gave him a small smile. 

“I forget sometimes you were born and raised in Tokyo.”

“Tokyo’s awesome, but I like to chill in places like this.”

“Yeah… They say there’s a voice in the mountain at night. And that you should never follow it.” He laughed when Ryuji yelped, apparently spooked by the story. “There’s a lot of stories. I guess that’s just how old and small towns in the countryside are. But, weirder things have happened.”

The grass was soft, if a little humid, but it was comfortable. 

“Today… one year ago, I was being taken to the police station to be interrogated.” 

“Aki…” Ryuji turned to look at him, feeling his chest tight. Gosh, he’d forgotten it entirely. Akira’s erratic behavior made a little more sense. He felt like an ass for not remembering it, but Akira didn’t seem like he was expecting him to. 

There was a moment of silence, before Akira spoke up again, softly. 

“Ryuji, do you... have any anniversaries like this?” 

The blond stopped, giving it some thought.

“Maybe the day I wrote down my resignance from the track club. I was still using crutches, and I had to hand it over to Kamoshida. I signed down the date, so it stuck to me.”

“What do you do when this day comes?”

“Huh… well, last year I invited myself over your room, and tried to get my head off of it?” It was the first time it worked so well. He had new friends, and he even had someone he liked, and Akira’s voice had a way to soothe wounds he had long forgotten about. On his way home, he invited Yusuke for ramen the next day, and got an immediate and enthusiastic reply. Futaba sent him a funny video tagged ‘it you’. And before he went to bed, Ryuji gushed about Akira to Ann, and she returned the favour talking about Shiho. 

It was just different, having people in his life. They didn’t solve things for him, but… their friendship changed the way he saw the world.

Akira nodded, absentmindedly.

“Let’s get going.” 

They were just past the clearing, when a group of students still in their uniforms turned a corner and looked at them. 

“It’s him.” 

“Fuck.” Akira cursed under his breath as the group approached. “Ok, don’t do anything, I _will_ get in trouble if you do.” And their plan was just so good, he really couldn’t risk anything now. “Just trust me, ok?”

“Damnit, Aki! Why-”

“Shh!”

The group came into hearing distance, and continued approaching. 

Ryuji watched as the group checked their surroundings. Two walked up to him, while the apparent leader stepped closer to Akira, looking down at him. 

“You shouldn’t wander off to those parts, Kurusu. It’s said it’s dangerous. What would the school say if you got in trouble again?”

Akira sighed, taking out a small knife from his pocket and fiddling with it, looking up at them casually. Ryuji felt his mouth hanging open in surprise. What the hell was he doing?!

The group took a collective step back, suddenly not that happy anymore about the lack of witnesses. Kurusu looked terribly like he had used that knife before, and hadn’t regretted it. Clearly embarrassed about his earlier display of weakness, their leader sneered.

“What you gonna do, assault me? Is that why you were arrested before, isn’t it?” 

Akira twirled the blade on his hand, deft fingers and a casual but deadly intent behind the movement. Just as he used to do in palaces, a small extension of his ever present fiddling, with pens and whatever he had his hands on. 

He smirked. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” There was a moment of hesitation, in which Ryuji was pretty sure that was going to evolve into a very ugly brawl. He suddenly wished it did, because he didn’t understand what was happening but he didn’t like that guy’s attitude with Akira at all. He scowled, and felt a petty contentment as the guy close to him looked away, intimidated. 

“Let’s go, this fucker’s messed up in the head,” eventually their leader said, and they scurried away.

Akira waited until they were far enough and huffed a laugh.

“Dude, you carry a knife?!” Ryuji asked, incredulously. 

“It’s Iwai’s replica.” Akira passed it to him. They walked back to the clearing, deciding to wait it out until there were less students roaming about. “I carry it around when I’m not in school, because they search my bag every day.” 

Ryuji poked his finger with the tip of the knife. It was completely dull. Akira took it back and pocketed it.

“The real world isn’t that different from a cognitive one,” he said, as they settled down on the grass again. “The students think I have a knife, and the teachers think it too but they can never catch me with one. It kinda keeps everyone in check without doing anything that can get me in trouble.” It was fun in a way he couldn’t quite explain, messing with people like that. 

There was always this darkness in his heart, just by the side of his righteousness, that just made him turn it into a sharp weapon and violently demand justice. Storm into people’s hearts and steal everything. Making them stare at the unforgiving truth about themselves and watch them wailing and despairing over what they saw, just because it was fair. In a sense, the way he made justice happen was by cursing people. For them to forcibly stop being so complacent, so comfortably buried in their own delusions, and make them suffer as they finally acknowledged the truth. 

He didn’t regret any of it. 

People started to say how his gaze was scary sometimes. Too intense. People weren’t as unaware, they knew deep down, something fickle and formless as intuition telling them he was dangerous. Which was probably why he never really said anything about the rumors in Tokyo, and why he had never corrected anyone here about it too. 

They were right, he was a dangerous person. 

Not in a malicious and selfish way, but he was ruthless He had turned down a God’s offer for humanity to remain with its eyes closed, content in their ignorance. Because it wasn’t right, because he wanted those people to be free, because he wanted them to acknowledge the truth and stop looking away. Because he wanted society to change, and because he hated the idea of letting people suffer because of a few powerful ones. He’d cast them all in the pit of despair of making one’s own choices. He’d curse them all with free will. 

He looked at his side, staring at Ryuji. Even so, he found people who had accepted that, and who risked it all to fight by his side. Considering that, maybe, just maybe they knew him more than he had thought before. 

The blond spoke up, scowling.

“Even so, he was so damn rude. You not being bullied, right?”

Akira openly laughed at that. It wasn’t a happy laugh, but Ryuji couldn’t quite place it.

“I only show off like that occasionally, so the rumors won’t die out. But overall no one really wants to confront me face to face. When I said it was hard for me I was talking about my former friends. And it’s disencouraging having the teachers shooting down every career option, refusing to even indicate me good reference books. People looking for a fight is actually the best part of it all.” It always felt nice when he could attest that the skills he honed last year were still there. “I hate a lot more people who stand on the sidelines and watch other people be bullied.” 

He stretched his arms above his head.

“The majority of the students keep trying to bother me in other ways. Small things like writing on my desk they want me to die, notes in my shoes box.”

"What the hell, Aki! This is so shitty! You alright? D’ya wanna me to go rough them up or something?”

Akira huffed a incredulous laugh.

“Ryuji. I’ve had people trying to shoot me in the face last year. You really think I’d be worried about regular high schoolers writing mean words to me?” 

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Akira chuckled.

“It’s a bit funny, to be honest. And really boring.” His smile died down. It got repetitive, over time. He kind of wished he felt something about it. He just felt empty when he couldn’t even bring himself to care that people hated him. Maybe after having the whole country cheering for his death last year had desentized him. He did wonder, sometimes, what was it that he had that made people despise him so much.

“What the heck, man.” Ryuji bumped on his shoulder, smiling. “You’re too cool.”

Akira propped himself up using his elbow. Ryuji found grey eyes gazing intensely at him. 

Messy black hair, rebellious like his owner, framed by a myriad of leaves from evergreen trees above their heads. There was just the sound of the wind on the leaves, both the fallen and the still attached to their branches. 

Akira leaned down, and softly kissed him. 

The blond’s heart skipped a beat, but his hand was already cupping Akira’s neck and pulling him closer. There was a sigh against his lips, and Ryuji wanted that boy so badly. The kiss got deeper, and longer, and Akira leaned closer, lying on top of him. 

Akira’s tongue was downright wicked, and Ryuji was so past caring about anything else. 

And Akira just didn’t want to think anymore, he was tired of remembering bad things. He just wanted this, he wanted that closeness, he wanted to hold onto his best friend and don’t have to let go. 

Things started to get a bit out of hand, though, when Ryuji’s mouth trailed down and started to kiss his neck, on the opposite side of where he had already left a hickey Akira spent half an hour covering this morning.

Akira mournfully pulled away, slightly out of breath, sitting up, but not yet leaving his lap. 

“We probably shouldn’t go too far. We’re in public and I could still get in trouble for public indecency or something.”

“Yeah.” The blond dazedly nodded. “Then maybe you should… er, go sit somewhere else.” He squirmed a bit under Akira.

“Feeling flustered?” A smirk.

“Geez, you’re always pinning me down.” Ryuji mumbled, definitely flustered. “Do you like to be on top that much?”

Akira hummed, considering the question. 

“To be honest, I was actually thinking I should bottom first,” he admitted. 

Ryuji blinked. He had been joking, and wasn’t expecting Akira to answer him seriously. He hadn’t thought about things that far ahead yet, but now Akira mentioned it… 

“Normally I’d say ‘hey, whatever man, what matters is getting laid’.”

“And you won’t say it now?”

“Well, I did take a trip on your conked head, and I’m not that sure you’d tell me if I hurt you, so, I was actually thinking I should go first. I would tell you if something was wrong, and I could know better than to hurt you when it was your turn.” He was absolutely done with hurting Akira. He could admit he really wanted to fuck Akira, because he just had the best reactions, and anyway, it was just something he had always kinda fantasized about. But he didn’t feel confident enough that he wouldn’t hurt him, and Akira was way too good at enduring pain, so, yeah. 

“Well, that’s not true.” Akira scowled.

"Oh, so you saying you wouldn’t even think of going all ‘oh, it hurts a little, but I can endure it’? ‘Well I got this far, might as well see it through the end’?”

“Well…”

“Y’see, I’m stupid, but not that stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Akira demeanor softened. 

“Aww, thanks, man.” He smiled brightly, pecking his lips. “Anyway. My point stands. I’d trust you with anything, and anyone, except you and your own well being.”

“I take offense on that.”

“Sucks to suck.” And, as the mature person he was, he stuck out his tongue to Akira, who bristled, but let go after giving the blond a shove on his arm. 

Ryuji tackled him in a hug, and Akira smiled a bit. He was happy. He felt honestly happy, being held like that, listening to his best friend talk. Exactly one year ago, he had honestly thought he was never going to see him again. When he sat there at that metal table, his head pounding from dehydration, bleeding and high out of his mind, he had almost wished he could fall asleep and never wake up again. The pain had been so excruciating, and he had been just so terrified. Sometimes, he just couldn't stop thinking about it. Why would someone want to break him like that, and why did he let himself break? It felt humiliating, that instinct to flinch every time someone made a loud noise.

Why was he still not over it?

His smile was soon gone, and he fell silent again, lost in thought. 

  
  


Morgana was back later in the night, and Ryuji somehow felt relieved when he saw him. Akira wasn’t talking, and the blond didn’t know what to do.

He opened the front door while Akira was still spacing out upstairs. 

“How is he?” was the first thing the cat said. 

“I don’t think he’s really over that fucking interrogation.” 

“Oh no.” Mona looked heartbroken too. They decided it wouldn’t do any harm if the cat stayed inside for a bit, while Akira’s parents were away. It was… It was a bad day for Akira, and surely they could make an exception now.

Akira was where Ryuji last saw him, sitting down on the bed, gaze miles away from there. 

“Hey.” He looked up at Morgana’s voice.

“Mona.” He smiled a little at the cat. “You back?” 

“Pff of course. I told you I was sticking to you, didn’t I?”

Akira’s smile was small but grateful. He sat up at their guest arrival, but his eyes soon drifted towards the open window, and he was silent again. 

“Akira, talk to me.” Mona poked his side with a soft paw. He had been around Akira enough to know that sometimes he needed to be pushed a little, or he’d just… stay in bed and zone out for hours without noticing it himself. 

Akira looked up at the cat, trying to think of what to say. He pressed down on his own rib cage, feeling the small bump in one of his ribs, how the shape was slightly wrong. 

“By the time I could stand touching it properly, it had already set a bit wrong," he found himself saying, because it was what he was thinking and he just... felt too confused to try and sort it out before talking. "It’s not bad, and I don’t think it changes anything. It’s just here, I guess.” He lay down on his side.

He was quiet. Not quiet like he had been quiet back then, fire in his eyes as they planned their next heist, their next goal, but had to be discreet. Not the same quietness he usually had, full of mirth, and boldness, and kindness too. He was quiet like sometimes his saddest shadows had been, like his mind was far away, and they couldn’t really reach him.

He eyed the knife on his bedside table, almost wishing for it to be sharpened, just so he could try and see if he would feel something on his fingertips. The sensation never came back to the tip of his index finger and his thumb. The cuts on his wrists had healed, the bruise was entirely gone, but the trauma on the nerve was probably more severe than he had thought. He didn’t know that was a thing before, didn’t know that was a symptom he might have to think about. Thinking back on it, the guard had stepped down pretty hard on his bounded hands, the angle had been painful. 

It was horrible. He had this overwhelming urge of just stabbing his fingers with something so he could feel things right with them. It was uncannily similar to dissociating, to that horrible feeling of a shell covering his skin, never feeling the outside world right, and he would rather take pain than that maddening numbness. 

He reached down, tracing lines over his stomach, over his clothes, but they knew where the scars were, they had seen the blood dripping from those wounds in his memories. 

Ryuji sat with his legs crossed, back to the wall, while Morgana was anxiously sitting in front of Akira’s belly, not knowing what to say when he was that silent.

Ryuji and Mona looked at each other, and the way their hearts broke as they swore to themselves they would protect that boy curled up in bed was exactly the same. They were let in by Akira, in a moment he felt vulnerable, and it was an honour, and they were filled with a deep sense of responsibility. Just like that, they bonded in a way they couldn’t quite explain, but all of the tension they had been living, that silly dispute for Akira’s attention, faded away, and they were a team. They were a small section of their big team, one that was allowed to see Akira open like that, one that could keep an eye on him, and try to make him take better care of himself. 

Ryuji sighed, eyes blurring with tears, and he felt as the small head of the cat butted his arm. They didn’t talk about it. But it was better not being alone with all of Akira’s heartbreak. It was good having someone else to keep one another in check, so they could be the best support someone could ever have. 

Mona moved to sit in front of Akira, who blinked, seemingly back with them. He turned and noticed Ryuji’s worried face.

“Come here.” He smiled, beckoning him to lie by his side too. 

Ryuji curled up on his side, facing Akira, but not crowding him. 

Mona, like the cat he swore he wasn’t, went to lie down next to their heads, curling up and closing his eyes again. Akira felt more at ease with the familiar dip in the mattress next to him. He took a deep breath and tucked his head under the blond’s chin.

It felt a little wrong, to be comforted by Ryuji, who had been through a lot with his dad, and not even once Akira helped with it. And Ryuji was just fine with it, not being a crying baby about it. 

He told him as much.

“I had a lot more time to deal with it, Aki. I was still pretty upset one year after my father left. Those things… it takes a while for your head to really catch up, and you start feeling safe again, I guess.”

Akira was silent for a moment.

“Thank you for being here,” he said, quietly. “Wish I could have been with you back then.”

“Yeah…” Ryuji was absentmindedly thumbing the back of Akira’s hand. “You’re here now, tho. I’m pretty glad ‘bout that.” 

“Me too.”

There was a small huff, and Akira gave a small smile.

“I’m really glad you’re here as well, Mona.”

“W-well, I suppose.” Ryuji huffed a laugh seeing the way the cat’s ears had perked up, obvious joy in his blue eyes. 

“Wanna cuddle with us?” Akira asked, scooting away a little and opening a spot between them.

“No way, Ryuji might crush me in his sleep.”

“Hey! Why only me? Akira could crush you too.”

“Well, newbie, I must point out I have been sleeping with Akira for a longer time, and he has excellent bed manners.”

Akira winced.

“Must you phrase it like that? I still have flashbacks about waking up to seeing you human...”

“I was handsome!”

“Sorry, I really didn’t like that. I prefer you how you are now.”

“H-humpf!” Mona stuttered, clearly embarrassed, and happy with the compliment. It was this bit reassuring being accepted by Akira, even if some days it was hard accepting himself. “You just like having the bed all for yourself.”

“Not true. See? I invited Ryuji for the bed. I like sharing.”

“Let’s see how you like it when you receive one elbow to your face.”

“It was one time!” The blond protested.

“One time too many, I tell you.”

“That wouldn’t happen if you slept on the couch or something.” Ryuji countered.

“I like my bed.” Mona said, kneading the soft mattress and stretching his back.

“Hey, it’s my bed.” Akira pointed out.

“All of your beds are my beds.” The cat replied, matter of factly.

Akira huffed a laugh, burying his smile into his boyfriend’s chest. It felt fragile still, that small amusement in his heart, but he felt lighter. It was going to be okay. He could still smile. His memories weren’t so bad when his present was so warm and comforting. The past was in the past, and he faced it, he survived. He chose what was right, even when it had cost him so much back then, but he was glad he did. He could see himself living the life he was starting to build now. 

All of them were sort of falling apart in their own way, but, together in that small pile in Akira's bedroom, they felt a little like they were healing. 

Morgana was, of course, absolutely right. Akira barely moved when he slept. Ryuji, on the other hand, had already hugged Akira’s arm, throwing a leg over his. His face was half buried in Akira’s shoulder, and he was deep asleep. 

Akira woke briefly at the movement, but relaxed when he turned his head enough to realise who it was cuddling on his side. Then he pressed a kiss on the top of the blond’s head, and was asleep before he knew it. 

Morgana, who was a good tactician, was peacefully sleeping on his other side, safe against Ryuji’s ever spreading limbs. 

Akira was pretty much silent for the whole day, but he cracked up some time in the afternoon.

“Do you ever think about how Shido would have never had the means to do everything he did was it not for Akechi?”

“What do you mean?” Ryuji looked up from his phone.

“Shido would still be corrupt and greedy, but he wouldn’t be able to establish his position if he wasn’t taking money for causing mental shutdowns. And he wouldn’t have been able to destabilize his opponents. And he wouldn’t get more popular for hunting us. He wouldn’t be able to win without all of that, he fed on the fake information he leaked. They wouldn’t have caught us at the casino, because except for the meta navi, no one could enter the metaverse. I wouldn’t have nightmares about being shot in the head.”

Morgana had a thoughtful look as well. Akira continued.

“Which makes me think how any one of us could have been so destructive. We had the same power, and the same opportunities. Ryuji could have tried to be wanted too, and I don’t know, trick his asshole father, kill people because he wanted ‘to feel wanted’. Futaba could have flipped and tried to kill her uncle. Makoto could have tried to kill her father’s murderers. Ann could have ended Kamoshida for what he did to Shiho. I think that’s why Akechi said we were so naive. We never considered that. We just wanted to kick this world in the teeth and refuse to bow to its stupid prejudices. We wanted to make people think for themselves, because chaos can be better than passive apathy.”

He frowned, feeling a lump in his throat. It was a little bit like talking about his father, as in… a belated realisation that maybe it hadn’t been right, what happened to him. 

“For a long time I held onto his pair of gloves. I felt guilty that someone had died right in front of me, even if it was his own choice. I think I hated how he never got to taste defeat, to crawl in the ground and get kicked down like me. He lived off his fame, and then he died saving us, even if we never asked him to do that. It’s uncomfortable.” It felt a little like he was finally pulling the poison out of a wound. “He was smart in a way I couldn’t have ever been, because I’m too much of a bleeding heart to choose what wouldn’t make my life more complicated. He betrayed Shido when he realised he had been betrayed, because he knew he would die like a nameless nobody. He never regretted what he did, even in Maruki’s fucked up reality. He was just as down to murder as ever, and I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to try and kill me again. And I don’t know if it’s spite, but I just wanted to prove I wasn’t like that, so I was intent on making him live with his mistakes. I did it for Maruki as well, because I was so tired of people fucking with my life and then walking away with no punishment.”

That was it in the end. He had finally been able to think back on everything and start feeling angry. 

“But it didn’t matter in the end. Maruki is out there being a cab driver of all things, and Akechi is probably rotting somewhere. It seemed so important back then, what happened to people who wronged me, but when I came back home I realised it didn’t do me shit. Maybe they repented one day, maybe Maruki’s finally getting what he deserves, but so what?”

Wasn’t it time to get something out of it too? He hated his home. He hated to be away from everyone he cared about. He hated the lack of perspective, he hated how every single job he could think of, he ended up turned away. 

“I’ve wanted justice for a long time, and I still do now, for sure, but… I also want not to feel like this.” He sighed, looking down at his lap. He usually avoided saying hurtful things, and it felt plain weird doing it, acknowledging his less noble feelings. 

He dug a nail on the pad of his index finger. It was entirely numb at the tip. He tested his other hand to the same result. Wondered how much of himself he lost in that interrogation. How much he lost after Maruki. What was left now. 

“I just plain hate the guy,” Ryuji said with a shrug. “I mean, I was upset too that he died on us, because I’ve never been happy about someone dying, I’m not that kind of person. But, after what he made you go through? He can rot in hell for all I care, sorry.” He hadn’t had a single problem in being rude with the guy when he was being an ass to them in Mementos. “And if he came back I’d still punch him in the face. Metaverse powers or not, he can’t lift anything heavier than his stupid briefcase,” he mumbled, in a bad mood. 

Akira smiled a little at his passionate answer. He could understand Ryuji, he had never expected his friends to just forgive the detective after everything. Akira then wondered why he always assumed he had to forgive everyone. He didn’t expect it out of the others. 

“I know you have lots of things going on, Akira, but…” The cat jumped in the bed to look at him better. “Even when Maruki brought him to us, none of us interacted with him more than necessary. We tolerated his presence, but that was all. Sorry, but you will always come first, and we almost lost you because of him. And it’s okay if you don’t, but… If you do resent him, it’s okay. Akira, it’s… really, it might be a good thing for you to acknowledge how he tried to harm you over and over, and that you have the right to be upset about it.”

Akira paused for a moment, contemplating the notion.

“I know he had reasons, but didn’t all of us have them too? Why do I feel so petty holding a grudge? He tried to murder me, and he never even regretted it. He never even apologized for it! And when he realised I was alive, he went right to the metaverse to finish the job.” And suddenly he felt like an idiot. What was the problem in saying ‘no’? Why should he just let people treat him like that? “He was going to get all of you killed eventually. He tried to kill you at Shido’s. I dream of gunshots. I spent months terrified at juvie.”

He had never talked about his time under arrest, and suddenly, he wanted to. He wanted someone to know, to fucking tell him it wasn’t right. 

“I was one of the smallest of the bunch, and I had never committed any crime. There were some dangerous people there. When I saw them, at meals, and other moments… After the first day, in which I spent time in solitary because the police were figuring out what to do with me… I was terrified.” Things happened in that kind of place. And he was… What if people there realised he was attracted to men? “Someone had actually cornered me and I don’t know what they wanted, really, when some inmate grabbed his arm and said I was a protegee of brother Munehisa, and if they so much as looked at me wrong, they’d have a whole yakuza family on their heels.”

He took a deep breath.

“I was so grateful for him. When I accepted being arrested, I didn’t… I was so fucking naive.” He scowled, suddenly angry. “And you know what? When I was crying myself to sleep in my cell, I felt so fucking angry that I didn’t even do anything and I was living through hell, and Akechi just walked out of it all without a worry in life? Akechi, dead, or not, he never paid for what he did, and I was so mad, it wasn’t fair. Maruki at least fell hard from fame, and from everything, I guess. His job, and his research, at least he lost that.”

Akira wasn’t moved by people feeling bad. He’d watched every single one of their targets crawling on the ground and crying, and he had still yearned for justice. He didn’t regret any of it.

“I think Akechi should have at least apologised properly. Trying making amends, treating my friends with respect, not terrifying Sumire. I did my best befriending him, I really did. And he wasn’t the only person in the world with problems. Takemi had her whole life and career ruined because of some old man in power. Yusuke had his mother killed because of Madarame. Shiho was… You were abused. None of you used it as an excuse. Even before I was friends with you, you’d have never killed anyone for your own gain. Takemi could have done it so easily. He chose to do everything he did on his own will. I-it wasn’t my fault.”

He was suddenly angry about it all. 

“Maruki crossed a line. Y-you can’t… you can’t beat up kids. Hell, you can’t beat up people to vent your anger. He was a therapist.” What kind of doctor used personal information of his patients like that? None of them had agreed to be part of his research, it was unethical and absolutely madness. “I was only trying to protect the people I loved, and I wasn’t a criminal, and even if I was, the police can’t just torture people to get fake confessions.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” He teared up, voice shaking terribly. 

“Damn right it wasn’t.” Ryuji scowled, sitting down by his side and hugging him tight. “It’s okay if you never forgive him, Aki. Your father as well. Sometimes you just… don’t, and you let go of it, I guess. I mean, if you ask, I didn’t forgive my dad. But I don’t think about him.”

Akira took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He was so anxious he was shaking. He had never talked like that about anyone, but it felt liberating, putting all of it out there. 

“Yeah. I think I understand that. When I leave… I don't want to suffer because of my father anymore. I don't want any feelings connecting us."

He had seen it, when the world was ending, and what held it together were the feelings connecting him and his friends. How he could only reach out for them because of their bonds. He refused to ever let any kind of bond remain between him and his father. 

Mona nodded gravely.

“Let go or be dragged.”

  
  
  


Before they knew it, a week had gone by, and Akira refused to let Ryuji skip his physiotherapy session. He was going home. 

Mona had said goodbye to him a few minutes ago, having gone away because Akira’s mother would be back in half an hour. Akira himself was clad in his school uniform, and was going to attend classes today, so he wouldn’t be going with Ryuji to the station. 

He had to get a grip and study hard if he wanted to get out. 

They said their goodbyes at the doorstep of Akira’s house.

Akira was wearing an old fashioned black gakuran, with golden buttons. Ryuji had never worn one of those, since his schools had always adopted shirts and ties, so it looked a little bit like a military uniform of gala. His thick framed glasses were back on his face, and his hair looked even more black paired with the traditional uniform. His skin stood out with that colours, in a way the Shujin uniform never managed to.

Pale and fair skin, that bruised easily as a peach. A boy who cried when he dreamed of his father. Who lived in a house where the doors slammed, and where one had to know when to hide.

Ryuji felt his eyes watering. 

Akira looked gutted. 

“No, please, don’t cry, I’m okay,” Akira said, but it didn’t console Ryuji. 

It just felt the same. He couldn’t save his mom. He couldn’t save Akira.

“Hey, look at me.” Akira gently cupped his face, as if he could physically stop him from falling apart. “It’s okay.” Akira’s voice was steady, and he was still as reassuring as he always had been when they had needed it the most last year. 

“Aki, I’m serious. If he tries anything, punch his stupid mug and get out. I’ll come get you. It doesn’t matter what time it is. I’ll travel all the way here and get you out.” 

It was like someone had lifted the world from his shoulders, and Akira had this sudden urge to cry. The relief was so sharp and sudden it almost hurt. He had backup plans, he had thought about running away, but he had never really considered having this sort of offer extended to him. It was something else, not having to even ask, to have this kind of broad offer for help just given to him. His heart was lighter just thinking about how, if his life got that turn for the worst, he wouldn’t stand in the middle of the streets and have to hesitate before punching a number and calling for help. 

“Thank you, really.” He smiled, but the blond still looked worried sick. “Honestly, I know you don’t think it is, but… it’s a lot for me. You’re doing a lot.”

Ryuji nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Your train will leave soon.” 

“Yeah.”

“You have to go.”

“...”

Ryuji tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“Bye.” Akira gave a small wave, smiling for the both of them. Because he had always been the kind of person who tried to be strong when someone he loved was falling apart. 

“See you soon,” The blond choked out, because he wasn’t accepting ‘goodbye’.

He hesitated for a second, but then pulled Akira to a real kiss, deep, long, until they were both breathless. 

Akira blinked, seemingly caught off guard, before smiling. A small smile made entirely of reassurance, of a lingering happiness that was going away.

Ryuji felt like something heavy was crushing his chest. He looked at those grey eyes and that small smile and he could finally place Akira’s expression.

Akira wanted him to stay.

How do you turn your back to someone you knew was going to be in danger in their house? How do you leave someone you love so dearly, knowing they wouldn’t be safe, knowing they were scared and wished you could stay?

Ryuji thought back on it, and, just as he turned to leave, he realised it had to do with trust. Trust in their plan, in Akira’s call, in his resilience, and in his honesty when he said he’d call if he needed help. 

It had been a little like that, the Casino heist. He had had to close his eyes and trust in their plan, and in Akira’s thoughts, in his resilience. 

Akira had delivered what he promised back then. He got out alive. He threw their enemies off their track. He turned an unfair game in their favour, and won. He knew the risks and he threw himself in, anyway. He had weighed the pros and cons and taken the most valuable prize, because he was a thief at heart. 

He also barely made it, and he had been so hurt then. The mottled blues of the bruises on his skin, the blood on his wrists, the now unfeeling tips of his fingers. The all consuming instinct of flinching away when someone looked like they’d throw a punch at him. The racing of his heart when he sat at a clinic and waited to know if he had caught some weird disease. The urge to throw up just at looking at needles. The nightmares of a cracked skull and a pitiful corpse. A ringing laughing. 

What would be the price now? 

Now they had his honesty, the promise he’d call if he needed help. It was… something. 

Ryuji hid his face between his hands, and tried to breathe. On his way to the station, he saw a small Jizo statue, and something made him stop in front of it.

They guarded the travellers, right? Akira didn’t belong in that city. He was going to leave. Ryuji just wanted him to be safe during that time, before he left, and during his travel, and then when he finally arrived in Tokyo. 

Ryuji wasn’t really sure about those things, and he didn’t really believe in the Jizo statues, except that he kinda did a bit. Akira was a country bumpkin, and he had told him stories. And… wasn’t the whole of last year about that? Believing? Believing in something maybe had some kind of a power, and that was why Akira had tried so hard to make Ryuji believe in himself again. 

They were already doing everything they could. Maybe what they needed now was more of sheer dumb luck, just like the one that let him defibrillate Akira back to life despite not knowing what he was doing. Just like the one that let him survive the explosion back at Shido’s palace. 

He offered a coin. 

  
  
  


They videocalled each other as much as they could, during those months.

“I’m hanging on,” Akira would smile and say.

He was, and they all were, but the waiting was hellish. 

He looked tired, but it was to be expected, considering he couldn’t sleep when he wanted to. It was a slow game of strategy. 

He took a deep breath and looked at the mountain of notes he had to go over. 

He was going to do this. 

Outside, the seasons changed, one after another, and they held on.

  
  
  


Akira barely stepped past the gates when he spotted a blond young man sprinting towards him. He could feel his own smile growing, and he opened his arms to catch.

They collided into each other, and Ryuji held him tight, and felt himself being hugged back just as tight. 

Akira breathed out a shaky sigh, burying his head on the blond’s neck and just staying there for a moment. 

“Welcome back.”

Akira closed his eyes, feeling himself trembling slightly. Safe again. He had missed Ryuji so damn much. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, but sincere. He was okay now. “I can tell you more later.” 

There was a muffled meow inside his bag, and he sheepishly opened the zipper to let Mona’s small head pop out.

“Blondie, did you have to tackle him like that? I have motion sickness…” the cat complained.

“Well, I didn’t know you were in there!” Ryuji said loudly, then bowed his head when he realised half the station was looking at him. 

“Damn, we better scram, they’re gonna realise we have a cat in here.” Akira grabbed his arm and started walking away fast. 

“Ready to see everyone?” the blond asked. They were all going to meet at Leblanc for dinner, and then tomorrow morning they’d be helping them unpack their things in their new apartment.

“Yeah, I’ll just… I want to talk to Boss first.” Akira bit his lip. He had been thinking about that a lot, while he was away.

“D’ya wanna me to go with ya?”

“No, it’s okay.”

Morgana piped up. 

“We can wait at Futaba’s with everyone until you’re finished, then!” 

  
  


It was nostalgic, walking the streets of Yogen Jaya. Even more nostalgic walking into Cafe Leblanc, hearing that bell chide and looking up to see Sojiro behind the counter. 

“Hi, Boss.”

“Hey, kid.” Sojiro’s tone was warm, but he stayed behind the counter. Never one for effusive gestures, he leaned on the shelves behind him and crossed his arms. “Good to see you. I have some beans to spare, if you want a cup of real coffee.

Akira smiled at him. 

“Please. I missed your coffee.”

They were both quiet people, but it wasn’t a suffocating silence. The kid sat down and began to drink.

“How was it with your parents?” 

Oh. Futaba hadn’t told that to Boss, then. Akira was grateful. He didn’t want more people knowing. 

He parted his lips to say it was fine, but… did he want to lie like that? And for what? 

Akira ended up shrugging and looking away. 

The old man pulled softly at his own beard, a thoughtful look behind thin framed glasses. 

Akira looked different. 

He wondered if Akira knew how he had looked some days. Pale, and tired, too thin and too anxious. Nervous, silent. 

He wondered if Akira knew how heartbreaking it was, to be that old and see your kid- because Akira was his kid, even if he might not have known- to be hunted down and treated like an animal. To look at a sixteen years old boy with a bounty on his head, because he cared too much for a world that was trying to crush him. 

He wondered if Akira knew how terrifying it had been to watch the steel in his eyes.

If he knew how softer he looked now, without anything to risk his life for, and when his sadness finally had a place. And he knew everyone thought he was better off when he was the fearless leader, when he grinned and lived off that high. And Sojiro wished that boy to be happy, but there was something inherently healing about Akira looking a bit demure and sad. 

Because he was facing his own problems for once instead of trying to save everyone else, and he was being allowed it. There was no secret identity to protect, no criminal group to lead, and no death threats on his doorstep. He was finally allowed to just cry sometimes, and plan for the things he wanted, and go out with his friends for the sake of hanging out. 

He considered not telling anything, because it just wasn’t right to dump all of that emotional weight on a kid. Even if he was older now, if he was technically an adult, Sojiro was so much older, they might be both adults, but the difference was colossal. And because Sojiro would always feel that protective, because even thirty, forty years old Akira would look young for him, who would be so much older, if he even gets to see that far. 

But. He realised how Akira just had never known how much Sojiro cared. The boy might have never known that Sojiro noticed when he had been tired, or anxious, even sometimes when he was telling a kind lie. 

But it was fair, because Sojiro never told him anything, and never really helped, even when he could see the boy was hurting. And it was Futaba all over again, Sojiro had seen the pain on a young face, and his heart had hurt too, but he didn’t know how to reach out, and he kept wiping the counter and making curry like that could fix something. He had always thought that he wasn’t a real father, so he might not have known what he was doing. So he did the same he did to Futaba- except, no, he did a little worse.

It was a little terrifying. Akira had been making decisions and living through things, and having to question things someone much older would. His crisis now wouldn’t be ill suited for someone graduating college instead of high school. Hell, some things he thought about were things Sojiro hadn’t questioned his whole life. But it was this bit difficult seeing him go through this. Desperate for a job, not knowing what to do with his own life, worried about money, worried about family. 

But he still sat there, looking so happy over a stupid cup a coffee, happy that they were having his old and boring curry later, and he was so achingly young. Having Akira there again made his old man’s heart feel a little tight, and this bit more complete. 

Damn, he missed the brat. 

It was the second time. A second child that life had given to him to father, and Sojiro had to put himself together and deserve it. He had to know when to butt in, and understand that sometimes he really needed to say some things aloud, or they would never go through. 

“You look happier,” he said, finally, pretending to wipe some cups. “It was hard to watch you trying to hide whenever you were upset. Of course, I knew when you were worried, or happy, but not much more than that. It was a bit like Futaba, I didn’t know what to say. Well, at least I was useful at not saying anything when the police came. It was a hell of a year.”

Akira looked down at that. 

“Sojiro, I want to say that I’m really sorry about that. I… I was so immature. I thought I had things under control. I mean, we were worried about Akechi trying to kill me, and the rest of us too after that, but… We didn’t consider warning you. I didn’t tell you. I should have.... When they took you, I was floored. I didn’t… I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

Boss gave him a smirk, putting some coffee for himself.

“Hey. I knew what I was doing when I agreed to cover for you all. That’s the difference, kiddo. When you’re this old, your consent weights in a way it never does for when you’re young. That’s why children don’t consent, and that’s why while I do know teenagers are not kids, you weren’t adults either, and there’s a different weight to your words. I mean, of course I respect them, and of course they count, but I know there’s things to account for. If I had asked you to cover for me, it wouldn’t be the same thing. But when you asked that of me, trust me, I knew what I was getting into. I’ve worked for the government for years, I knew Shido, I knew what could happen, even if you didn’t. And it’s okay.”

Akira nodded, still looking conflicted, but he was also pensative. 

“Really, kid, you can rely on me. You might be an adult now, but I’m still here for you.”

Akira swallowed around the lump in his throat. He wanted to trust, he really did. And… Sojiro had kept the worst secrets, he had stuck to him through hell and high water. He was arrested because of Akira. It was alright to try and open up a little bit with him. Probably.

“Uh… is it alright if I bring my friends over here later today?” They have been planning on dinner together, and Futaba said it was alright to just barge in, but Akira wanted to ask himself even so.

“Sure, kid. But no freebies.” Boss was smirking, but they both knew he was going to end up giving everything for free to them anyway. 

“Of course not.” Akira smiled, then bit his lip, hesitating. “And… I’m bringing a date too.” Sojiro opened his mouth to guess a name, but Akira beat him to it before he could say one of the girls’ names. “It’s a boy,” he blurted out, before he could chicken out.

Boss stopped with his own cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. He blinked a few times. 

“Oh.” He cleaned his throat and tried to think fast. Oh. Ok, that might make some sense. He was alright with it, he was just… Really surprised to hear that? The kid was so closed off, and to have him just opening up like that was… Incredible. Confusing, but it felt like the kid trusted him a lot more than he was expecting. It was… such an awesome feeling, finally having one of his kids actively opening up like that to him. He wanted the kid not to regret telling him that. 

“Good for you, I guess,” Sojiro said, eventually. “I’ve always worried you’d be too awkward to ask someone out.” He gave a teasing smile, and reached for a cigarette, trying to get across the message that… he wasn’t judging. That it was okay. That he was happy seeing the kid happy. 

Akira half smiled, heart still settling down from trying to climb up his throat. He knew he didn’t have to tell Sojiro he was going out with someone, but… he wanted… Maybe he knew, because Futaba had told him that Sojiro would be accepting and Akira wanted that. He wanted to share something with someone who was like family to him, and he wanted to be accepted. 

“To be fair, he had to ask me out,” he breathed out, trying to keep the mood light.

Boss huffed a laugh, downing the rest of his coffee.

“It’s okay, Futaba’s also a bit of a coward to reach out for people.” Sojiro smiled, looking at the bottom of his now empty cup. He gave a big sigh and got up to put the cup in the sink. “Who’d have thought I’d end up with two kids. What I’m missing now is a wife, I guess. Life’s not bad.” He shook his head, and adjusted his glasses before looking up and smirking at Akira. “Who knows, maybe I’ll even get some grandkids.”

Akira huffed a laugh.

“Maybe Futaba will give you some grandchildren in the future.”

“What, no grandkids from you to me?” Boss challenged.

The kid frowned.

“Sojiro, you know that- No government officer would give a kid to a couple they don’t even recognise that exists.”

“And are you just going to take that lying down?” Boss looked at the shocked look on that young face and smirked. “Huh, I didn’t know the countryside air could make people spineless.”

Akira smiled widely at him, smug, grateful, his eyes watered terribly but he didn’t stop. 

Futaba had told Sojiro that Akira wanted to go into politics and change things. It was just something hearing that confidence in him, and Boss just… believing he could change anything if he put his mind to it. 

Not that Akira had given a lot of thought about having kids, hell, he had lived the past two years dodging his gruesome end in some or another way. But it was… incredibly nice to hear someone telling him he could have it if he wanted. That he could have pretty much anything he fought for.

Which was exactly what Boss wanted him to know.

Sojiro spent so much time watching a kid trapped, and he was sick of seeing that. It was okay if Akira didn’t _want_ to, but it was not okay if he was just giving up on something because society was forcing him to. It wasn’t fair to crush him like that, to limit his choices because other people were stupid. He wanted Akira to decide about what family he wanted to have based on what he wanted, not crawling on the ground and picking up the scraps the world let him have. 

One of the first things he told that boy was to stop trying, to keep his head down and give up on what he wanted, on what he thought was right. He wanted to fix that. He wanted Akira to know that Sojiro changed, the phantom thieves made him change, and he now didn’t know when to quit as well. 

Akira was always, always, desperately trying to change. Everything, for the best they could be. The world, himself. He would try anything and go anywhere if he thought that could make things better. 

“Thanks, Boss.” Akira’s voice sounded a little choked up, but he was smiling. Not his polite smile, but a genuine one, and Sojiro thought that maybe he was doing this parenting thing right.

“Geez. Stop being so cooperative, you’re not on probation anymore.” He sighed, remembering another thing Futaba had told him. “Er… about that. I wanted to say I’m sorry. Futaba kinda came to ask me how it was when you had arrived here, and… She got really mad at me, about how I treated you then.” Boss laughed sheepishly. 

"That was just the few first days." Akira shook his head. 

"No. That was wrong of me. Of course you wouldn't have money from the get go to pay for your living expenses. I should have given you some."  
  
"I understand. I could be just a good for nothing kid, he'd keep asking you for money, happy to trick an old man. You didn't know me, and I did have a record."  
  
"I knew why you had been arrested.”  
  
"You just wanted someone to help out at the cafe, it's okay."  
  
"No, it's really not.” His voice sounded so sure, Akira was taken aback. “If I wanted help, I should have hired a part timer. I couldn't make you do it because I gave you shelter. This is slavery, blunt and simple. I did want to help you because you reminded me of myself, but I went at it all wrong. I'm the adult. You were always my responsibility. I'm really sorry for that. You ended up in some pretty dangerous situations because I didn’t help you when I should. I'll make it up to you."

Akira didn’t know what to say for that, and he was honestly glad when Futaba bursted into the cafe a few minutes after, leading their group of friends inside in a blur of activity. Everyone greeted Boss, talking animatedly about the curry and the coffee they wanted to try this time, and putting more food on the table. Just when the silence grew a bit awkward. It was almost impressive, Futaba’s good timing-

“Is the cafe still wired up?” Akira arched an eyebrow at her.

She looked away innocently.

“I don’t know what you talking about, big bro.”

Akira sighed. She was definitely listening in.

“We got tired of babysitting your boyfriend so we came over,” Ann said while elbowing Ryuji.

Sojiro’s head snapped to the side to stare at the blond, who fidgeted in place and raised an awkward hand in greeting. 

“Er… Hey, Boss.”

The old man pinched the bridge of his own nose. Of course. He had seen the looks they exchanged, how hadn’t he seen that? But now, thinking back on it, they had always been quite attached to the hip. Now he was feeling a little oblivious. Ok, he wasn’t expecting the kid to like boys, but… He was supposed to be a master of romance, and it was fairly embarrassing not to have seen it. 

“Geez, kiddo, why didn't you tell me from the start?” the old man groaned. He could have stumbled upon them any time when they were playing games in the attic- Wait. When did they start dating again? 

“I… thought... If you… thought I wasn't…” Akira flushed, stumbling upon the words. He had thought Sojiro would like him better if he could be straight, and then he got too worried about explaining he was not, and ended up not saying Ryuji’s name? He should have rehearsed it before.

God, the kid was awkward. Sojiro loved him so much.

“Hey. I'm happy for you.” 

He immediately turned to scowl at the blond brat. 

“You! I'm watching you, though. No funny business with the kid, you hear me?” 

“Sojiro gets protective over his charges,” Futaba offered, sipping her coffee. 

“You gave me a pair of lucky pants.” Akira pointed out with a confused frown. 

“That was then, this is now.” Sojiro was trying to bond with the kid, and he thought it would be like an encouraging pat on the shoulder, a boost for the obviously awkward kid. He wasn’t really expecting him to start dating anyone. The kid had his moments, but he looked like an anxious mess most of the time. Maybe he could fool people his own age, but Sojiro had always seen the nervous wreck the kid could be. 

He glared at the blond, warningly. “No funny business with my kid.”

“Y-yeah, sure.” Ryuji hesitantly answered, hands up in surrender. “Only serious business here.”

“No serious business either!” Sojiro hissed.

“He’ll calm down, eventually.” Futaba reassured him. Then hesitated. “I guess.” She glanced at the rigid posture of her guardian. “I never tried dating, good luck, big bro. Sojiro is kinda overprotective sometimes.”

She paused for a moment, before glaring at Ryuji as well.

“But if you hurt Akira, I’ll ruin your life, ok? Don’t try me, you know I will! I’ll hack you into poverty, and then fake crimes under your name, and everything!” 

“How many people will give me the shovel talk?!”

Morgana brightened up at the chance to dump too much information onto someone.

“There’s a seasoned politician, a scary alley doctor, a spooky fortune teller with mystic powers, a too well informed journalist, your homeroom teacher… Oh, and an ex-yakuza!”

Ann whistled. 

“Wow, I’m starting to feel bad for you, Ryuji. Maybe I can give Akira a shovel talk.”

“I can help, too, Sakamoto senpai!” Sumire piped up, looking up from where Sojiro left her plate of curry. But then her shoulders slumped. “Oh, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to chastise senpai…”

Ryuji sighed, shoulders slumping too. 

“Thanks for the offer, I guess...”

Sojiro narrowed his eyes, and served Ryuji the most bitter roast he had, glaring at him and pretending he didn’t have either milk or sugar. Not that anyone should be dousing his perfect coffee with those things, but still. He had it. He just wasn’t giving it to that vulture. 

He only relaxed slightly after one hour or so, during which Akira looked happy, giddy even, and his… his boyfriend- God he wasn’t ready for his kids to be having boyfriends- his boyfriend hadn’t said anything disrespectful nor touched his charge in any inappropriate way. 

His tense shoulders dropped slightly. Okay, Sojiro could recognize he might have been overreacting a bit. He had known Ryuji for quite some time, he seemed to be a good friend… 

But! Was he a good boyfriend? That remained to be seen. He had overlooked too much already about Akira. He wasn’t going easy on him anymore. No, sir, not him. He would pay attention, and make that stubborn mule take care of himself. Yes, that’s what he was going to do. It was hard, being the only one with common sense, but he was taking one for the team. He kept a glaring eye at the new boyfriend. 

The blond didn’t seem to have noticed, turning a bright smile at Akira, gesticulating wildly what was probably a funny story, judging by the laughter that followed around them, Akira actually throwing his head back and giving a full blown laugh, instead of his usual chuckles. His boyfriend stuttered slightly in his storytelling, a small blush high on his cheeks, a stupid smile in his face.

Futaba shrieked about the no-flirting-in-front-of-us rule, and stole Ryuji’s phone from where it sat on the counter.

“I have five minutes to snoop around your phone, unchecked!”

“NO! T-that wasn’t flirting! Akira, tell her it wasn’t flirting.”

Akira sipped on his second cup of coffee.

“Rude of you. I was totally flirting.”

Ryuji almost screeched at that.

“You’re the best, big bro. All the cute selfies of him I find will be yours.”

“Hey, aren't there any pics of Akira?” Morgana had jumped onto Futaba’s shoulder, and was peeking at the screen. “I saw him sneaking a pic of him when Akira wasn’t looking.”

Ryuji turned bright red. 

“Traitor!!”

“What! I wanted to see, you didn’t let me, now I’m taking my chance. If you want my silence, you’ll have to bargain.” 

Makoto sighed.

“There’s far too many shady dealings going on this afternoon.”

Haru giggled by her side.

“Don’t be like that, Mako-chan, they’re bonding.”

Sumire, the only one with her own plate already clean, was eyeing Ryuji’s still half full one getting cold while he bickered with Futaba. She poked Mona.

“Do you think Sakamoto senpai is going to eat the rest of his curry?” 

  
  


They were all going to help with their move on the next day early, so they decided to call it a night after eating. Akira decided to sleep at the cafe, because the bed they bought was only going to arrive on the next day, and he didn’t want to sleep on the floor. Ryuji would be staying as well, so they could go see their new apartment early on the next day. 

Mona surreptitiously looked between the two of them and promptly accepted Futaba’s invitation to stay with her. He knew how to be a gentleman, and he had the greatest timing for his walks, so he was used to not intruding on Akira’s alone time with most of his confidants. It wasn’t that different doing so now. And it hadn’t been too bad, those days they spent the three of them at Akira’s hometown. 

He had thought Akira wouldn’t want him anymore, because he was going to move in with his lover, and… He wasn’t that lonely boy anymore, and he didn’t need Mona. 

But, for his surprise, Akira and Ryuji had simply assumed he’d be moving in with them. When the cat brought it up, both of them looked at him kind of shocked, and Akira looked vaguely hurt, so Mona immediately took it back and said it was just a joke, and of course he’d be with Akira always, they’d promised. 

Weirdly enough, it seemed like… Mona had finally found a place he belonged. And, to be honest, he wanted to spend more time with the others, now he was sure about his place with Akira. He had had a lot of fun with everyone in Tokyo while Ryuji and Akira had been in his hometown. 

Mona stretched, curling up on Futaba’s desk and cheering her on the game she was playing. Morgana made a mental note to tell Akira about that game later. Boss sneaked him some salmon pate later on, and it was overall a very pleasant night. 

  
  


Back on Leblanc, Akira was sitting on his old bed, smiling. He could barely believe he was back in Tokyo.

“Ahh, I kinda missed this place.” Ryuji sat down on Akira’s makeshift bed, as always impressed that it held so strongly despite its fragile looks. He and Akira had sat down on that bed together, and even Futaba had joined them once, and it hadn’t fallen apart. Maybe Boss was a genius for putting that together.

“I’ve kinda missed here too,” Akira said with a smile, looking around his old bedroom. The shelves, the worktable, the couch. He turned to look at his old bed, and found Ryuji’s sunny smile directed at him. 

God, they were going out. Last year him would have never thought he would have what he has now. 

Akira felt his heart rate speed up a bit, and he stepped closer to the blond. 

“I’ve always wondered how it’d be to kiss you on this bed.”

Ryuji felt his face heating up. Akira was way too smooth and absolutely shameless when he wanted to. 

“Uh… I mean, I guess you don’t have to wonder anymore?” He tried to flirt back, but was too flustered and ended up backtracking. “Or something like that.” 

Akira grinned, pushing Ryuji down onto the bed and crawling on top of him to kiss him. He cupped the blond’s face in his hands, and trembled as he felt hands on his hips, holding him as they kissed. It had been so fucking long. 

So he kissed the hell out of his best friend, exactly as he had daydreamed about for so long. He shamelessly pinned him down on that joke of a bed and heately made out with him.

Ryuji shifted under him a little, and Akira winced. There was something digging on his side, and he huffed, leaning away for a bit to try and find what was it. 

There was a lump inside Ryuji’s jacket. 

“What’s-“ 

“Aki, wait-“

A small tube of lube and condoms slipped out from his pocket. 

“Ryuji!” Akira breathed out, and his grin was pleasantly surprised. “I can’t believe you came here with such impure motives.” 

“S-shut up! I just thought it could happen!” Ryuji felt his face heating up, and he looked away. They hadn’t seen each other in months, and they had agreed on staying over at Leblanc and going together on the next day to their apartment since last week, when the store told them they couldn’t deliver the bed any quicker. 

So… Ryuji had spent that week a pile of nerves, and then decided to come well prepared because… well, he had been thinking about it since that day back in Akira’s hometown, when they discussed about having sex. And now they could finally touch each other, and it’s been hell spending that long without Akira, so… 

Akira’s smile softened. 

“It can happen.” He kissed that spot just under his ear, and the blond trembled a little.

“Huh… C-cool.” He swallowed dry. His heart rate was far too quick, and he found himself both incredibly nervous and almost giddy with anticipation. 

“Do you still wanna bottom?” 

“Yeah. I’m kinda prepped up and stuff?” he said, not really looking Akira in the face for that.

“Okay,” Akira managed to say above the loud thumping of his own heart. 

Akira took his shirt off, and tugged the hem of Ryuji’s tank top until he took it off as well. It was their first time kissing shirtless, and the blond shivered at the feeling. He cupped Akira’s nape, burying his fingers in soft curls and kissing him back. 

Deft fingers ran down his sides, and a thumb caressed his hip bone. He grinded up, moaning as he felt Akira’s thigh pressing on his erection. 

Akira hooked his fingers on Ryuji’s pants, pulling them down and taking them off. He grinned as the blond’s dick sprung up just as he pulled down his boxers. Ryuji pulled him down to kiss that smirk right off of his lips.

Akira reached for the lube, opening the cap and letting it drip on the blond’s entrance. 

It was already a lot relaxed. Ryuji had been serious when he said he had come prepared. Akira tested the give anyway, breaking the kiss to bite his lip when his middle finger slipped in easily. 

He leaned down to kiss Ryuji again, moving his finger slowly, giving him time to adjust. He waited until he felt the blond’s hips start to move, and just then he added another finger. 

Akira pressed his thumb down on that spot between his boyfriend’s hole and his cock, delighting in the strangled moan Ryuji let out. The pressure around his fingers lessened, and he went for a third. 

Their kiss got messy, and he squirmed a little, trying to adjust his own cock, trapped as it was inside his jeans. He pressed kisses on the blond’s throat, trying to calm down. His fingers kept a gentle pace, carefully stretching. 

Akira was absolutely relentless, he didn’t mind waiting, and so he continued to kiss the blond while fingering him until Ryuji was more than ready and positively dripping. 

Then, and just then, he took a deep breath and decided to press on. 

The metallic sound of the zipper being dragged down rippled through the room, sounding loud somehow. He pulled his jeans down just enough to free his cock. 

He looked down at his boyfriend’s pink and relaxed entrance, and inhaled sharply at the spike of arousal that struck him at the very graphic image. He was nervous as hell when he gently, slowly, nudged the hole with his dick. It was properly stretched, and with a small push, his head popped in, and both of them gasped at the feeling. 

Akira waited, feeling the blond’s hand holding tight to his arms.

“Sorry,” Ryuji gasped out, because of course he did. 

“Shh, you have nothing to feel sorry about.” Akira nuzzled his cheek, keeping still. “It’s okay. You’re perfect.” He pressed small kisses to the tan neck under his lips, controlled. 

His boyfriend gasped, tightening around his dick a bit painfully, and Akira moaned quietly. Oh, fuck. 

“K-keep going,”

It was… a lot, and not enough, and Akira kept going, in painstaking slow movements.

“Yes, that’s it,” Akira’s deep voice kept murmuring into his ear, and the blond whimpered a little. Fuck, he had a thing for that voice, and he was suffering. He also might have a thing for what said voice was saying, but he couldn’t think clearly enough to tell. He just didn't want it to stop.

Ryuji was not really one to think that much ahead, so he went with what his body wanted, and he pulled Akira in deeper with his legs.

Akira cursed breathlessly as he bottomed out. It felt like the blond was strangling his cock, it was hot and unbelievably tight, and somehow so intimate Akira didn’t know what to do. His chest felt too small for his heart, and he leaned down to press kisses to tan, soft skin. Ryuji’s thighs were tense under his grip, as he tried to breathe past the feeling of being stretched to his limit. 

Akira was thicker around the base, and the blond was trying to adjust to the burning sting. It hurt, but it was a confusing hurt because he also had never been this hard in his entire life. It was this bit distracting how eager his cock was, aching between his legs as he took in how debauched Akira looked. Oh, he had a very pretty face, and Ryuji’s life was very difficult at the moment.

Akira looked just gorgeous, pretty pink lips wet and parted as he breathed, black curls even messier, cheeks flushed in pleasure. He was clearly struggling with how tight and hot it felt inside his boyfriend, breathing heavily but keeping still. 

It felt amazing and he was entirely lost in the sensation. 

Then, Ryuji was turning his head, and he caught Akira’s lips in a slow kiss, too slow for what they were doing, but it felt right. Akira kissed him back with all of his heart, softly, gently, trying to soothe the pain, trying to make the other feel safe. He felt the blond sighing against his lips, and Akira couldn’t help the small smile from spreading on his face. 

There was something heady about gently taking someone apart like that. 

He suddenly felt glad he was sharing this with someone he really wanted, and trusted. He wondered how much of his ideas of just getting it out of the way were simply pressure from other people, and how men should behave. But he felt like, even if he thought of himself as a woman, the pressure never really went away, because there was an age to be doing it, and sometimes everything about life seemed to turn into deadlines. He realised, with soft wonder, that he would have wanted to wait for this, even if it took more years to get here, because there was just something else about doing it with someone he trusted that much.

A breathless laugh against his lips.

“You never stop thinking, do ya?”

Akira smirked out of reflex, and his boyfriend tightened around his cock at it. Akira gasped at the feeling, then chuckled, embarrassed, and then cocky, self assured as realisation slowly dawned on him. 

“You like my face that much?” He grinded his hips down, drinking in the way the blond’s mouth fell open, a strangled moan falling out of his lips. 

Somehow, that had felt good, a twinge of pleasure sparking up somewhere deep inside. 

“Shh, you’re doing amazing.” Akira whispered, kissing gently that spot under his ear, and the blond shivered. Fuck, that voice. He was doomed. “You’re perfect.”

Akira noticed Ryuji seemed to relax a lot more with the small touches and whispers, and the way he clenched around him just this bit every time Akira praised him was very interesting. 

Very interesting indeed. 

A Joker’s worthy smirk was pulling the corners of his mouth. Oh, oh. How convenient. He loved praising his awesome boyfriend.

He was still smiling as he bent down to kiss said gorgeous boy, and there was a muffled moan as he moved inside the blond just a little with it. 

“Aki, c’mon, do me, I can take it.” The blond squirmed in place, desperate for more friction, for more of… anything really. He had never been harder in his life, and Akira was really insisting on going slow, but he was going to have a fit if he didn’t get some action immediately. The cock inside him made him feel hot all over, and the whole thing was really arousing.

Akira pulled out until he had only the head of his cock inside, and then he thrusted in again, in a controlled motion. He could feel strong and lean thighs under his unforgiving grip, and he stopped when he bottomed out again, dark fringe hanging down. His eyes seemed bright in the dark, lips parted as he took in the tight fit.  
  
"F-fuck, Akira."  
  
The blond gave out a breathless moan, which sounded a bit like his small breathless laugh, and it was just as lovely. Akira wanted to fuck him silly. 

"Mmm what is it?" He gripped the blond’s cock, moving his hand just as he remembered seeing him doing and watching him start to come undone. “You look so hot like this,” he whispered in a warm breath into the blond’s ear, and relished in the small trembling that followed his words.

Akira’s smile had that scheming quality to it that made it look almost sharp. Ryuji’s poor heart did a small flip in his chest. 

“Do you like it when I say you’re beautiful?” he asked in a low voice, moaning as he felt the blond tightening around him. “When I praise you for being so good to me?” 

Ryuji’s face flushed a deep red, and it was exhilarating, to be able to rile him up like that with just a few words. 

Akira took hold of his boyfriend's hips and rolled his hips forward again, same angle, but a bit more forceful. Ryuji’s back arched off the bed, a whiny moan escaping him. 

“So gorgeous. Look at you.” 

Ryuji started to suck on the weak spot on his neck, and Akira snapped his hips forward and started to build up the speed. Fuck, it felt awesome. He wasn’t going to last. 

He kissed his boyfriend’s jawline, trailing his lips until he reached his mouth. Akira gave him the filthiest kiss ever, his tongue was talented enough for it to be illegal, and the bastard knew it. He pulled away slightly to catch his breath, and he felt the blond’s cock twitch where it was pressed against his stomach, as well as a shaky breath on his ear. 

He rocked his hips, thrusting in faster. The blond gasped a small moan at the feeling, hands gripping the sheets tightly. Akira disentangled his boyfriend’s hands from the fabric, holding them down on the sides of his head, entwining their fingers. Arms stretched out, he had a better vision of his boyfriend, something tender in his chest as he took in the pleasure in brown eyes, the trust involved in letting someone touch him like that. Akira leaned his weight partially on their joined hands, using the slightly different angle to thrust harder. The hold on his hand tightened, a breathless whine reaching his ears.

He leaned down and kissed the sound right off of parted lips, letting go of Ryuji’s hand and wrapping his fingers around his cock, jerking him off roughly. The blond writhed in place, eyes closed. 

“A-Aki, I’m gonna cum.” 

Akira’s grip on his boyfriend’s dick tightened, and he squeezed, keeping him from tipping over the edge, the way he did to himself sometimes, when he wanted his orgasm to be more intense. Ryuji bucked in his hand, whining. Brown eyes looked up at him, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed with heat and… a small moan tumbling down his lips.

Oh. Oh. Ryuji liked it. He liked being teased. 

“C’mon, Aki, don't be like that.” Ryuji choked out. He was so close, so painfully close, but he couldn’t come. 

"Mmm? What do you want?" Akira purred, kissing softly the sensitive skin of his boyfriend's neck, teasing. His voice was so gorgeous, Ryuji felt like he could come despite that wretched grip on his cock. 

“Lemme cum," he asked in a shaky breath.

“Good boy,” Akira growled in a low voice, right into his ear, and that, that did it. The pressure let up and the blond shivered at the whisper, and he cried out, cumming messily all over his abs. 

Akira gasped as his cock was squeezed, and he thrusted in harshly, hopelessly turned on. He had a few seconds maybe, and then he was spilling into the condom. 

He blinked, out of breath, heart beating a bruise inside his chest, and he stared down at his artwork. The blond was just as breathless, his face flushed and hair messy, streaks of cum on his belly. 

Akira pulled out slowly, still a bit high on the pleasure buzzing through his veins. 

Ryuji blinked a few times, staring at the ceiling and trying to catch his breath. 

“Fuck, that was hot.” 

It was so honest and unexpected Akira snorted a laugh in the middle of tying off the condom and throwing it away. 

“Can’t say I imagined it’d be like that, but fuck.” 

“I’m glad?” Akira said, passing him some tissues for him to clean up. 

“Geez, you’re so awkward.” The blond snickered. 

“You’re welcome?”

“Dork.”

“You okay?” 

“Never better, Aki- ouch, okay, it feels a bit weird now.” He pulled a face when he sat up, so he decided to keep lying down. 

“Sorry,” Akira breathed out, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s shoulder. He sat up again, wondering if he should at least try to clean up the sheets.

“Nah. It was good.” 

“Indeed. You were so cute.” Akira teased. 

Ryuji tried to kick him, and Akira out of reflex grabbed his ankle and stopped him, still laughing. 

His thumb brushed against a small bump and he turned to look. 

A whitish scar, years old already, of a suture. The exact spot where someone tried to bury Ryuji’s life, to end it before he had a shot of reaching for his dreams. 

“Kinda ugly, right?” Ryuji found himself saying, with a small smile. 

“No, it’s not.” Akira’s thumb slid gently over it, and his smile was so knowing, of everything it took for the blond to get where he was today. Akira looked proud, Ryuji felt himself tearing up. 

Akira was touching the scar, with his pinkie and ring fingers now, so he could feel the surface properly. He mourned a little the numbness in his other fingertips, but he was adjusting. 

Ryuji felt a little bit like his chest was too small for his heart. He looked up at Akira. 

The scar on his pale chest was discreet, but there all the same. A pale line, where the blister had burst open when his father forced a hug on him.

But it felt a little different, their scars, when they were lying there together, so far away from everything that hurt them in the past. 

"Come here." Ryuji opened his arms, and they snuggled together. Akira kissed his cheek, a hand rubbing his back in a loving motion. 

“Y’know… I think Imma tell my mom about us too," Ryuji quietly said against the crook of Akira's neck.

Akira blinked, surprised.

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. I don’t like hiding things. And I think she’ll be cool with it, now my dad’s not there anymore.” 

“Okay.” He reached for the blond’s hand, and squeezed it. 

Ryuji smiled. He was hesitating before, but... after he saw Boss, he kind of wanted to tell his mom. He was already moving out anyway, and he was reasonably sure she would't mind it too much. 

“Besides, she wants to see where I'm gonna live, and… well, she’s gonna notice we only have one bed.” 

Akira’s lips curled into a small smile. It was nice, thinking about that. He was looking forward to their bed arriving tomorrow. And everything else. The attic had a lot of good memories to it, and he was happy to have the chance to make another good memory in it. But he was excited about their new apartment, to move in and make lots of memories there.

Ryuji gave a huge yawn, and Akira mirrored it too. 

They cuddled in his tiny makeshift bed and slept in until Sojiro came in the morning and shouted for Akira to stop wasting his day in bed. 

Boss was, of course, smart enough not to go upstairs. Futaba, though, came in five minutes later like a hurricane, and didn’t stop for long enough for Sojiro to get one word out about it. 

When she barged into the attic, Ryuji’s bare back was visible lying on top of Akira’s equally shirtless torso, and she thanked all of the gods for the sheets.

She still screamed, though.

The blond jumped up and joined Futaba’s yelling. 

“FUTABA WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

She ran away with a shriek, and they could hear Sojiro’s exasperated groan from upstairs. 

Akira groaned, burying his face into his hands. 

He was so ready to move into their apartment, and having an actual door to his room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we had a bit of smut here! Not end game smut, because it's kinda their first time, and they haven't figured out some stuff yet. I almost cut it off, honestly, but... decided against it. So, a little bit of really nervous boys being sweet and overly excited. Heads up for bottom Akira absolutely loving it in the next chapter lajsdlkasjd And an actual door for Akira, because the attic just doesn't have one and that's nerve wrecking alskdjask
> 
> I had to take a moment to let Akira be a bit of a bastard lakjsda Like, after everything that happened to him, I think even getting bullied would get boring, and with max guts, it'd be hella hard to intimidate him. He had been at gunpoint way too much, and being hated is kinda old news. Also, he has a lot of skills that he can show off and get people to not want to mess with him. I think he'd bluff about using them, just so he could be left alone. 
> 
> By the way, I wanted to take a moment for him to just get a little angry. He had closure about Shido, but Akechi and Maruki wronged him and never really owned it up, and I think Akira would have a lot of conflicted feelings about it. Like, he'd want justice, but with everything done and over, he'd look back and just want to be happy, for once. And to get there, I think it's important for him to start to be a little more on his own side, and to get angry when people do bad things to him. 
> 
> And I wanted him to have a last tour around his city, and tell things only a country bumpkin like himself would know. I don't know, I just felt a little empty when Ryuji asked him to show his hometown around, and Akira had that answer that 'there's nothing to see there'. Like, isn't there really? Maybe, when he finally got to leave, he'd look on that town and remember things. Maybe he didn't have turistic places to show, but he could show places that were important to him. That part is kind of inspired on a quote of a book called The Fierce and Beautiful World, by Andrei Platonov. 
> 
> About Mona, I really think him and Akira just go together. Like, Morgana never abandoned Akira, and I just think it'd be wrong for Akira to abandon him for anyone. I get it that sometimes people want their ship to have some alone time, but Mona is always considerate enough to take walks when Akira is hanging out with his confidants, and I think their friendship is really good for both of them, so I don't see any reason why sometimes people just want to kick Morgana out hahahaa I feel like Akira has things he likes to do with each one of his friends, and none of them are interchangeable, and Mona enters in that category. I remembered Ryuji and Mona's interaction at the thieves' den, when they were both bonding over their concern for Akira (they're the most protective of Akira out of everyone of the bunch), so I put them bonding like that here too. Bonding, but retaining a bit of their bickering, because Mona just can't be honest all the time kalsjdlka 
> 
> We also had a small moment for Boss, because I just think their relationship is neat. Boss gets worried about Futaba getting a boyfriend, so I just wanted to write a scene of him suddenly getting worried about Akira having a boyfriend too. A bit of a typical dad, feeling a bit defensive when someone shows up to 'steal' one of his charges. There haven't been a lot of people in Akira's life who had cared enough to get protective over him like that, so I wanted him to have that with Sojiro. A little bit like how Lala had gotten worried about him, and always told him to take care on his way home.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! This is it, guys, this is the last chapter. 
> 
> We have a smut alert for this chapter! Also, I must mention that this chapter has 17k words. Think of it as that one shot you read sometimes hahaha. For esoteric reasons I decided to keep it at 19 chapters instead of splitting this chapter up. 
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone who stayed until this point. This has been a journey, and I'm happy to be able to post the ending.

Turns out hiring the cheapest option for the moving company left a lot of work to be done by themselves. The new apartment was small, but not the smallest ever, and after their cleaning spree it looked really good. They still didn’t have a lot to put inside, but there were already a few things. Sojiro sent some cups and plates as a gift, as well as the old couch in the attic, and Haru gave them a charming table. Morgana found an awesome deal on a good refrigerator, which Ryuji’s mom ended up buying for them. And Ryuji and Akira had chipped in for the bed and the mattress. 

The rest of them didn’t have that much money to spare so they just brought cleaning supplies and helped with the whole business of moving a few boxes around and rearranging the spare furniture. 

A few hours later, Sumire excused herself to go to her training, and Akira accompanied her to the station. He felt a little awkward, being alone with her, after her confession and now he was dating someone else. She seemed to notice, because she spoke up with a small smile.

“Senpai… I’m happy for you, really.”

“Thanks.” He put his hands in his pockets, wondering what the hell he did to have such great friends. “Good luck on your competition. And thanks for coming even though you’re busy.”

“I couldn’t miss it!” 

As Akira made his way from the nearest train station to his new home, phone in hand so he wouldn’t get lost, he remembered the first time he did that, when he first arrived in Tokyo. How scary the crowding streets had felt, how lost and empty he had felt. The injustice of it all still burning in his throat. How lonely had been his first night at his new place.

He pulled out the key to his apartment and was met with Morgana’s shrieking, and Futaba’s cackling, and Ryuji running after Ann, who was making fun of him for some reason, and there was so much noise. 

He wasn’t sure if he had ever smiled so much in his life. 

  
  


After their lunch, the remaining thieves went upstairs to lounge around for a bit. It was a bit messy still, but they had the couch, and some cushions, so they could get comfortable on the floor as well.

“Then it begins phase 2 of our festivities!” declared Ann, opening up the suitcase she brought. “Girls’ day! I can do the hair of anyone who wants it, and I have facemasks for everyone! And some sweets for us to snack on throughout the afternoon! We’re gonna put on some music and talk and become even prettier!”

Futaba cheered loud, as well as Haru. Yusuke looked interestedly in all the colours of nail polish Ann took out of her bag, and Makoto was really excited about doing things that a typical teenage girl would do with her friends. Akira was just as excited, and anyone who knew him could tell by how his eyes gleamed. 

Eventually, Ann sat down on the floor behind Akira, and started ironing his curls, having convinced the latter it was refreshing trying out new hairstyles. Yusuke was currently concentrated in recreating The Starry Night on his own nails, using Ann's various nail polishes. 

Haru was trying to convince Makoto of dying her hair, or doing a perm. She eventually suggested piercings, and caught the attention of the former student council president. Mona settled himself next to Ann’s lap, napping blissfully. 

Futaba and Ryuji were bickering about the playlist. 

“Don’t you guys have nothing else to do?” Ann snapped.

"This wouldn't be happening if you guys choose to do this when I needed to retouch my roots." Ryuji pouted, from where he was sprawled on the floor. He didn’t have anything else he wanted to do with his hair, but he didn’t want to miss on the fun so there he was. 

"Yes, ‘cause you're obsessed with them, and if there's one millimeter of black you're already dying it." Akira pointed out.

"I ain't walking around with lame roots, dude!" 

“Yeah, untouched roots sucks.” Futaba sagely nodded.

After a few minutes of peace, Ryuji spoke up.

"Hmm... sorry if I say something dumb, but hear me out." 

“What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking…”

“You shouldn’t do things you aren’t used to, Ryuji, that could be dangerous.” Futaba grinned. 

“Shut it!”

“Go on,” Akira said. 

"You said sometimes you don't feel like a boy, right?" He asked, plopping down next to him on the floor. 

"Yes...?" 

"There are boy days and girl days, and something in-between days, right?" 

"Something like that? I'm new to this too, it's... confusing." 

"What do you think that makes me?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Am I gay if I like a girl sometimes? Am I bi? Cuz you're technically a girl sometimes. But, like, there's days in between, so that makes more than two things? Can bi cover it? 

"I haven't the faintest idea." 

"Huh.... Hey!" Ryuji immediately brightened up. "Does that means I have a boyfriend and a girlfriend?!" 

"I... guess?" Akira tentatively answered.

Ryuji whooped, pointing an accusing finger at the cat.

"Hah! Suck it, Mona!” The cat jumped awake with a shrill. “You told me I'd never have a girlfriend in my life!" 

The cat sputtered, turning an accusing gaze to Akira. 

"Akira! See what you did? Now he's gonna brag so much we will never have peace again!" 

Ryuji puffed up his chest. 

"In fact, I have a girlfriend AND a boyfriend. Man, it's hard being this popular..." 

"Ugh, Mona's right, we'll never hear the end of it,” Ann whined.

Ryuji, though, was undeterred. 

"Wait, does that mean I get double chocolates for Valentines?!" 

"You created a monster! Do something!" Futaba shrieked.

Akira pondered for half a second and pulled Ryuji close to peck his lips, effectively leaving the blond stuttering and blushing, and all the rest groaning at the demonstration. 

“Something other than that!” Mona screamed.

“I see there’s no pleasing you.” Akira turned the page of his magazine.

“Big bro has no shame.” Futaba looked away, and Akira felt his face warming up at remembering this morning. 

“Finished!” Ann cheered behind him, passing him a mirror.

His fringe had to be combed back, because it got too long for him to see when it got straightened up. 

“Well, I think your natural hair is prettier,” Ann admitted. 

Ryuji nodded.

“Yeah, I like your curls. They’re, like, super soft.”

“Ok, that’s enough, lover boy.” Futaba elbowed him, teasing.

Ryuji flushed, but Ann didn’t pay him any attention and continued admiring her work. 

“It was refreshing seeing you in a different style, tho. Maybe we should try a wig next time.”

Akira brightened up at the suggestion.

“But, first, face masks! Then we should sit down and talk about our love life. I used to do that with Shiho before I started crushing on her. Ohh, and we can't forget the snacks!” 

Akira chose the porcelain skin face mask, since his skin was a bit too dry for the charcoal one. Ann opted for an aloe vera enriched one, followed by Haru. Futaba went for the one that looked more like mud, and pretended to be some kind of swamp monster. Makoto seemed unsure, apparently never having done any treatment like that, and she chose the bland moisturizing transparent one. Yusuke and Ryuji decided to take on the gold mask, both giggling and marveling at the notion there was real gold specked in there. Makoto stopped Yusuke from trying to pick up the gold dust to sell it.

“So, time for girls talk!” Ann cheered.

“What do girls talk about?” Ryuji asked. 

“How to optimize your PC cooler?” Futaba guessed. 

“Well, that too, but I think a lot of them talk about their boyfriends,” Makoto said, seemingly happy to know the answer. Akira had been right, it was nice to be friends with a normal high schooler girl. Even if said girl had bad taste in men… Makoto still couldn’t forget that incident with that host in the red light district. 

“Ohh!” Ann brightened up at that, zeroing her gaze on Ryuji and Akira. She had been dying to know more details about them. “Sooo, spill.”

“What?” Ryuji could feel his ears getting warm. “There’s absolutely nothing to spill.” He looked away at that, and Akira winced. Ryuji really was a shitty liar.

Ann grinned. 

“You saying we left you two alone last night and nothing happened?”

“Y-yeah?” Ryuji tried, starting to sweat, looking at Futaba. 

Futaba grinned evilly, seeing her chance to get back at them for that morning.

“They did it! ” 

“Futaba!” Ryuji shrieked, mortified.

“And judging by the state of Akira’s neck when I saw it this morning, Ryuji’s a biter.”

“FUTABA!”

“Aaaah, protect me, big bro!”

  
  
  
  


It was a little empty when the others left. They stayed as long as they could, and left only for the last train, but still, Akira wished they could stay a little more. 

Mona jumped in their bed and nagged them for about twenty minutes about the benefits of sleep, before falling asleep himself. 

Akira could sympathise. The day had been a lot of fun, but between all of the excitement and all of the moving boxes around, he was pretty tired. 

It was a weird feeling, though, standing there in the living room of their very own apartment. They didn’t have a lot of things, most of their lives could be packed in a small number of boxes. It was silent, and a little bit like back home. He could his chest tightening in anxiety. 

“Man, I can’t believe we’re, like, home.” Ryuji reached for him, as he usually did, hugging him for no real reason. He had been like that before they started dating, always putting a hand on his shoulder or giving him a sideways hug. 

It was as comforting as always.

He sighed, resting his cheek on Ryuji’s shoulder and hugging him back. 

“So… you think it’s okay?” he asked quietly.

“What is?”

Akira paused, trying to work through the lump in his throat. He felt a little out of breath. 

“This. Everything. Tell me what you think. I promise I’ll listen.”

Ryuji pulled away, holding his shoulders and looking at his face. Akira looked distressed, for some reason.

“Aki, what’s wrong?” 

What was wrong with him? Things were okay. Things were going well. 

Even so, it felt too foreign, and Akira was still expecting a little for life to have a card up its sleeve to fuck him up.

“I… You knew it, about Maruki. You were always wary of him. Of Akechi, even before we found out his plans. And it wasn’t just because he said bad things about the thieves, we heard a lot of people against us, and you just got annoyed, but it was like you knew.”

And Akira didn’t listen. He never listened, and that was why things went badly for him. 

“Aki, it’s not like I knew everything he was up to, I was just being a brat about it.”

“No, you were a brat about a lot of things, but you were serious about that. You were rightfully distrustful of Maruki, but we talked you into going to the sessions.”

“It’s not-”

“My grandma also.” His voice was thick, filled with regret. “It was like she knew, before I knew it myself. But… I-I didn’t listen. Not to you, and not to her. That’s why I went there with you. I wanted…” someone to listen? He wanted someone to be there when he apologized for being so stupid. A gut wrenching guilt for not having been able to understand words from people he loved. 

He found someone else who loved him enough to try and warn him about dangerous people, so he wanted to bring that person to meet the first person to ever do that for Akira. A desperate attempt to start to find closure in some of the many issues he had.

Ryuji held him tighter. 

“Alright, d’ya wanna know what I think?” he asked against Akira’s shoulder. “I think it’s okay now.”

Akira swallowed around the lump in his throat. He didn’t dare voice it aloud yet, but… He also had this feeling that… it might be okay now.

And oh, he would have never thought he would someday think like that, but it felt wonderful.

On that night, they went to bed together, and Mona ignored the cute cat bed Akira bought on a whim. The three of them curled up together in bed and slept. 

  
  
  


There were small changes in their lives as they adjusted to living together. Akira didn't mind alcohol, but it was a total no go for Ryuji. Absolutely no alcohol smell or bottles lying around. He didn’t mind seeing bottles, and he had stopped by Crossroads without a problem, but there was just something about the sound of a bottle being knocked over inside his house that just got to him. He didn’t mind other people drinking around him, but he tensed if said person got close enough for him to smell it distinctively. 

For Akira, he couldn't stand a few sorts of loud noises. Slamming tables absolutely no. Ryuji had a bit of a habit of slamming his hand down on furniture when he was upset, but the very first time he did, it sent Akira into a panic attack, and the blond never ever did it again. 

He felt really bad for it, and it was this hard to forgive himself for scaring someone as he had been scared by his father. Akira pointed out that he had fucked up too, when brought a bottle of beer home once- and that had been just a practical joke from Ohya, because the bottle was empty when she gave him it- and knocked it over. That sent Ryuji into a panic attack, because Akira didn't know better. 

It had been terrifying. 

Akira hadn’t reached out at first, because he didn’t want to overwhelm Ryuji, trying to talk him through breathing patterns. It didn’t work as he was expecting. The blond didn’t really do well with auditory learning, he had always struggled remembering what teachers said, doing a lot better with notes. Mid panic attack he also didn’t catch what Akira was trying to say. 

Akira then held a trembling blond in his arms, rubbing his back and trying not to break as he learned how his best friend cried when he was reminded of the heavy hand of his father. Akira just held on, humming under his breath, voice low and comforting. He didn’t really know the words, having only heard it in the church a few times, when he was a bit too early for a shogi match with Hifumi. She had told him about how she liked to listen sometimes, how it settled her heart.

It was unnerving how everyone only remembered her as a pretty face, when she had so many interesting and wise things to say. He remembered learning to sit down in the sober atmosphere, hearing the song echoing gently, the vitrals casting colourful lights upon them. He didn’t know the words, but he remembered feeling peaceful. He hummed the song as a lullaby, and waited for the boy in his arms to calm down. 

The song was the type that could seamlessly be sung over and over, notes strung together in calming verses. He could keep at it the whole night, and Ryuji knew it. He knew Akira would do it for him. It soothed something aching in his heart, that certainty. 

His breathing slowed down, and he came back to the present, to the odd reality in which being home was good and safe. He moved then, from where he was tucked under Akira’s chin, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, hugging him firmly. 

Slowly, a little bit, but everyday, they were healing. 

  
  
  


Things were surprisingly peaceful in their household for a while. That is, until Ann brought Shiho to visit them. 

The visit itself had been a delight, because Shiho was lovely, and Akira liked her a lot. 

What ended up happening, though, was that Shiho really loved Morgana’s excellent manners for a cat, and his cuteness, and Akira was having his cat kidnapped quite frequently. 

Akira didn’t yet know how, since by his calculations, the cat should have been heartbroken about Lady Ann’s very own Lady. But before he could understand it, Mona was almost Shiho’s therapy cat, because according to her there was really nothing like cuddling with this sweet cat who seemed to always understand her. Mona slept over a lot at Ann’s place. 

Akira was surprisingly broody about it. 

“You have to let him nurture his own relationships as well, Akira,” Makoto said to him, one of these days. 

Akira stopped pouting, agreeing with some reluctance. Yes, he knew that, he was happy his friend was happy, but he also missed his cat, damnit. He also liked to nap next to the engine-like purring of his cat.

At least Ryuji put up with his whining about that. The blond also felt a bit weird without that furball around, even if he didn’t quite know how to admit to it aloud. Maybe that’s what people with younger siblings felt? It felt a little empty, without the bratty cat. Well, at least they could do some adult things without him around. 

  
  


Which was exactly what they were planning to do in a few days. Well, at least Akira was really looking forward to that. 

Ryuji, though, was in so much trouble he wasn’t even remembering it.

White Day was approaching, and he had little time to think of something. Because Ryuji had whined about having been the only one to give Akira chocolate, on that year Akira went all out and made him a bunch of homemade chocolates and gave him on Valentines. 

There was cake and dozens of small truffles- handmade of course and tailored to his specific tastes- and even a card with it, and red roses. Over the top, as always, because that was Akira. Ryuji totally cried over his card, but that was beside the point. 

The point was that now Ryuji had to think of something equally thoughtful and romantic. The problem was that he was pants at planning things and nothing seemed good enough. He had asked Haru’s help for coming up with ideas for the romantic dinner part, and Ann and Makoto were helping with the day date part of it, but… He still didn’t have a gift. And he had no idea of what to give him. 

He did give gifts to Akira, but they were more like souvenirs, small tokens to remember when they went somewhere. He wanted something Akira would truly enjoy receiving. 

There was no other way about it. He'd have to swallow his pride and ask Mona. 

He had his chance when Akira was in the bath, and Mona was lazing around on the couch.

“Well, since you acknowledged my superior intel on the subject, I suppose I could help.” The cat puffed up his chest smugly as soon as he heard the question. 

Ryuji groaned but let him gloat for a moment. He really wanted that help. Morgana was the perfect spy, he was always with Akira and he knew exactly what items had caught his eye, what he had considered buying when passing in front of a store… 

The cat hummed, giving it some serious thought.

“Flowers? He loves flowers.” 

“But don't those have meanings and shit? I don't think I can put together a good bouquet.” 

“Haru might know about this.” 

“But don't this stuff change according to the country?” Ryuji scratched his head. “You know Akira's a nerd and the king of overthinking. If I gave him a bouquet he might find some obscure culture in the middle of nowhere in which that number of flowers means ‘I hate you’ or something.” 

The cat deflated.

“True.” 

“Clothes?” 

Morgana stopped for full ten seconds to stare at the bright red shirt Ryuji was wearing, the way it clashed with his hair, and with his purple sweatpants. 

“I don't trust you to buy any sensible clothes.” 

“What do you mean by that?!” 

“Shut it, we have a mission here.” The cat scrunched its face, thinking harder. “Well, you might have been onto something, he likes to groom himself. Oh! Maybe something from the Body Chop! We used to go there.” 

“But if I gave him a bar of soap won't he think I'm saying he smells or something?” 

Morgana hesitated. He wouldn’t really put it past Akira.

“... a stuffed animal? I’ve seen him eyeing this plushie in the mall one of these days, but when we came back someone had taken it already… We asked and they should have it in stock again today. Gimme your phone, I’ll show you where it is.”

“It’s actually a good idea, I’m impressed.” The blond smiled, pulling out his phone and letting Mona instruct him about where to find the store and what he should be looking for.

“What are you impressed about?! I always have awesome ideas!”

They heard the bathroom door opening, and immediately shut up, pretending to be doing other things. 

“I’m going to have some coffee at Leblanc with Futaba, do you wanna go?” Akira asked over the sound of the hairdryer. 

“Sure, dud- ack!” Ryuji stopped mid-sentence as Mona swatted a claw at his arm and gave him a meaningful look. He mouthed a confused ‘what’, to which the cat mouthed a ‘the gift, you idiot’. “I-I mean, I just remembered I promised to, huh, to…”

“To meet Lady Ann for some crepes,” Mona covered up.

“Yeah, that.”

Akira frowned for a moment, but shrugged. 

“Oh, okay. You coming, Mona?”

“Sure!”

  
  


The afternoon with Boss and Futaba went great, but Akira decided to leave a little early to buy some fertilizer for the potted flower Haru gave him a few days ago. He also had to return a few DVDs, and he didn’t want to get home too late, because Ryuji tended to get a bit lonely.

Aa he got home, though, there was no one there yet. 

“Hmm, Ryuji isn’t back yet,” Akira mused, as soon as he opened the door and quickly scanned the place.

Inside Akira’s bag, Morgana felt a shiver run down his spine. For some reason, he felt uneasy. God, he hoped blondie didn’t mess up with the gift part. Should he have mentioned the plushie was a prize in the arcade? But nah, it looked really easy to catch one of those, Akira never had to try more than once or twice.

“Wait, Shiho sent a message.” Mona was startled out of his thoughts by Akira’s voice. 

“What did she say?”

“Apparently Ann’s parents will be back in the country soon and she’s really anxious about meeting them, so she wants you to come over.”

“Oh? I wanna go!”

Akira smiled indulgently at him.

“Okay, then. We can go see that movie that came out last week and then I can drop you off there.” He smirked, then, deciding he should tease Mona a little bit. “Hmm, I guess that means I can get some alone time with Ryuji today.”

“Gah! Don’t tell me those things! I don’t wanna know!” Morgana shrieked, hiding his face into his paws.

Akira stifled a laugh, but continued picking up clothes to wear. He chose a dark grey shirt, and jeans, in a lazy combination. Then, he put on his black jacket and picked up his bag. 

“Akira?” The cat hesitated a little, and Akira sensed it, turning to look at him. 

Morgana had that defensive pride, he didn’t like to mope around other people, and he usually didn’t open up to anyone as he did with Akira. Haru managed to win his trust, with her patience and kindness, but it was still rare when Morgana got that serious and sentimental. Akira cherished those moments. He had many conversations late at night with the cat on his makeshift bed at the attic. It had been nice, the company, someone else to share that anxiety right before a dangerous heist. 

“What?” he answered softly.

“Are you happy?” Mona asked quietly. 

God, yes. 

“I am,” he answered simply. 

“I’m glad.” Morgana smiled at him. 

There was a moment of silence, in which the cat fidgeted a little, looking down. “Would you… I mean, I can stay away more. I mean, you’re dating now and… Well, before I could just go for a walk when you went to meet with your confidants, but well…”

Akira’s expression softened, and he sat down next to Mona. 

It wouldn’t be the same. Of course, he liked being with Ryuji, but he wasn’t joking when he said Mona was part of his family. He loved going around with him, and watching all sorts of dumb movies that Ryuji wouldn’t stay awake for. They had other things they liked to do together, and things he liked to do with Mona, and it wouldn’t be the same, if he had to pick one of them. 

Mona wasn’t a substitute, and it was just absurd thinking of romantic love as the absolute and uncontested challenger. He loved Mona, and he loved living with the two. No one would get rid of a pet for a lover, even more so one that was so much more than that. 

“I’m really happy you’re with us, y’know?” 

“Aw, you don’t have to say that.”

“It’s true. I… wasn’t the best at saying things aloud.” He still wasn’t, but he wanted to try to be. “But I really appreciate that you were always there for me. You… belong here, Mona, really. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” His eyes widened. “Are you having a fight with Ryuji? Because if you are, I can help-”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” And the weirdest part was that it really wasn’t. Since all they talked about in the velvet room with Akira’s shadows, and that day back in Akira’s hometown… They understood each other better. They realised they were similar in lots of aspects and that… Akira really loved them both so there was no need for competition. 

Now it was even fun spending time together, bickering and chatting, and ganging up on Akira for him to eat more and sleep better. 

“I think it’d be just weird if we started being all sweet to each other,” he said, looking away. “We get embarrassed being all mushy. But we’re happy. We get along,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Honestly?” Akira asked to be extra sure.

“Yeah.”

Akira fell silent for a moment, but decided since they were already having a serious conversation, he should ask what was on his mind.

“I’ve been meaning to ask this, but… Are you really okay going to Ann’s and Shiho’s place?”

“Yeah! Eating delicious food and hanging out together… I have always wanted that.” After he spent time as a human, he realized it wasn’t arms and legs that he was missing. It had been… boring, and quite a bit lonely. He had dreamed of going for tea with Ann, and of going on a lot of fun places, but… without his friends, friends that loved him as he was, it just wasn’t fun. But he had been able to go to a lot of places lately, and spend time one on one with the other thieves, and it had been a lot of fun. 

“I was a bit jealous of Shiho but she’s really nice.” She was also quite a bit like Akira in some ways, and it was oddly reassuring. “Now the three of us hang out together! It’s like a triple date!” The cat seemed to deflate a little as Akira’s expression. “Is it weird?” By the way Akira seemed so surprised, maybe it was weird? Maybe… that wasn’t the way a human would act.

Akira blinked, then shook his head vehemently.

“No, no, I don’t think so.” He considered his words. “I’ve been thinking about it, but… You have always been charmed by treasures, but I don’t think you have ever wanted one of your own. So… I guess it makes sense? You love to be around people bonding, I think.”

Morgana looked up at him, considering his words. It felt… right. He always got happy when Akira met new people, and he loved how… Akira just seemed to attract people, he was always meeting someone new. He loved how Ann attracted all eyes in a room towards her, how captivated people got just looking at her pics as a model. He didn’t want to model, or to meet that many people because it could be a real hassle, but… He felt energized and happy when he was around that type of person. 

“Maybe… I’ve always been attracted to Ann because a lot of people desire her, and… I dunno, it feels like I’m getting pulled by that energy.” Morgana tilted his tiny head, thoughtful.

“Since you were made out of one single desire, which is hope, maybe you just like… being close to other kinds of desires? I mean, you’re pretty into buying stuff, and into food, and a lot of these things… It’s like… you love humans and humanity. And above all of those things, you adore people, and their bonds. Like love, and friendship, because they’re probably the best humanity has to offer.”

Morgana paused, and something like soft realization settled on his heart. It felt right, somehow. He’d still have to give it some thought, but… his heart was lighter. He was happy feeling that secure about his place in Akira’s life, that made him able to cultivate other friendships and see lots of things and… He loved to see, he loved to hear about new things and discover new places. 

“Are you happy, Mona?”

Morgana looked up at him, and for the first time since he could ever remember, he had the answer to that question.

“Yeah.”

Akira smiled, scratching behind his ears to show affection. 

“So! Let’s get going, we don’t wanna be late!” Mona said to quickly defuse the moment, voice still a bit thick with emotion. 

Ryuji finally, after far too many shenanigans, managed to snatch up the plushie Akira wanted, and he was just on his way home when he realised he had to check if Akira was home, otherwise how was he going to hide the gift? With his free hand, he pulled out his phone and called him. 

“Hey, where are you guys?” 

“We’re going to the movies!” 

Ryuji blinked once. Twice.

“You and the cat?” he deadpanned.

“Mona likes going to the theater.” Akira haughtily answered, as if that was a common pastime for domestic felines. 

“And you going to eat something after that?” 

“Maybe?”

“How is it that you're going on a date with your cat?!” 

“Morgana says green isn't your colour. Apparently no color would make you popular.” 

“Well you tell him I was just going shopping for groceries and this unpopular man isn't feeling like buying salmon pate.” 

“He says I’ll buy it for him anyway.” Akira hesitated for a second. "...He might be right.” 

“This isn't good parenting, Aki! You can't defy my authority in front of the kids!” 

“Mona says he isn't our kid, and that he shudders to even think what an unruly crazy spawn we'd have. I say he's wrong, and that I’m very happy you adopted Mona and recognize him as your child.” 

“UGH! You bastard, just wait, I’ll get back to you as soon as I think of a good reply. And don't think I’ll forgive you so soon for dumping me to hang out with a cat.” 

“But Ryuji, the deal was that I’d take Mona to the movies and to eat sushi, and he'd spend the night at Ann’s, so we can have the house for ourselves to have a romantic night together.” 

“... maybe you're forgiven.” 

“Mona says you're easy.” 

“Tell him at least I have a boyfriend.” 

“He says he's spending the night with two beautiful ladies who will spoil him rotten.” 

“Well, yeah, but you're prettier than the two of them.” 

“Hell, you're right. Mona says no, but I’m on your side this time. Ok, movie’s starting, bye.” There was a hissing sound in the background, but soon the line went silent and Ryuji pocketed his phone again, resuming his way back home. 

It was really boring staying home without those two. Ryuji read some manga, and then did some push-ups when he became too bored. 

Then he went for a jog, came back to take a shower and there was still a little time to go before Akira was back, so Ryuji decided to go to the convenience store. 

Just so he could buy some soda to drink, and some snacks, because Akira loved to snack. He took his time, though, because he still hadn’t had dinner yet, so he took up the opportunity to stop for some ramen. Then he bought himself an ice cream at the convenience store because he was still a little hungry. 

He was feeling pretty good about himself, for getting Akira a nice gift. He made his way back home skipping a little on his toes, whistling an upbeat song. 

As soon as he arrived home, he found himself with an armful of his pretty boyfriend. Ryuji dropped the grocery bags to hug him back in an almost conditioned response. 

“I’m back,” he said on the curve of Akira’s neck. 

Akira smelled really good, and it was clear he was fresh out of the shower, even if his hair was dry. He always blow dried his hair after washing it if he could help it. Ryuji turned his head enough to bury his nose in those curls, breathing in his scent. 

“Hi.” Akira’s smile was almost coy as he leaned back just enough to drop a simple kiss on his lips. The kiss was sweet, but the way they were pressed together was anything but innocent. 

“Uh. Hey,” Ryuji choked out, back against the wall, and his traitorous hands had already found their place on Akira’s hips. 

“Hey yourself,” Akira’s gorgeous voice said against his lips, and Ryuji leaned forward to kiss him. It was hungry and a bit messy, but Akira had always had this talent to rile him up. He kept slender arms around his neck, kissing back with just as much heat. 

Akira made himself pull away for a little bit, kissing that spot under the blond’s ear. 

“We have the whole night for ourselves,” he whispered, then caught his earlobe in his mouth. Ryuji had pierced his ear recently, and Akira found it really hot. 

“For real?” he asked and then remembered Akira had told that to him earlier. But his brain capacity was decaying rapidly with that mouth on his earlobe. Ryuji liked a lot having Akira playing with the small hoop. 

Akira leaned back a little to look into brown eyes, smiling a devilish smile that did things to Ryuji’s poor heart. Those lips were soon kissing him again, and the blond’s mind short circuited.

Akira clearly had a plan, there was something purposeful in the way he was licking into his mouth.

Well, Ryuji was really liking that plan so far. 

Akira nudged his legs apart, pressing his thigh against Ryuji’s cock. It was quickly getting hard, and bigger, and Akira wanted it badly. He kissed harder, moaning when his bottom lip got caught by a sharp canine. 

He pulled away to breathe, but Ryuji’s lips found that weak spot on his neck, and Akira’s small moan earned him a bite that definitely went straight to his dick. They were already kind of humping into each other right there by the front door, but Akira couldn’t care less. They were excited about that new found intimacy, over eager and impatient. Akira wanted everything.

His hands reached down, palming the outline of his boyfriend’s erection. Ryuji inhaled sharply, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. Akira’s hand felt so good, even on top of his clothes.

“Can I?”

Ryuji didn’t even get what Akira was asking permission to do, but he was nodding anyway. 

Akira kneeled in front of him, looking up as he unfastened his belt, his eyes glistening as he unzipped his pants. 

Ryuji had half a mind of pinching himself just to make sure that wasn’t another one of his wet dreams. 

Akira bit his lip, pulling down Ryuji’s pants and underwear to get access to his cock. When he did that, it bounced up and hit his chin. 

Ryuji groaned at the image, feeling weak on his knees. Was that really happening? Oh God, it was really happening, and he was so godammned lucky he couldn't even believe it- 

Akira wet his lips, and kissed gently one hipbone. Then, he turned his face and nuzzled the base of the blond’s cock, heart racing in anticipation. 

He kissed the base, and went up, drinking in the shiver that ran down Ryuji’s spine. He reached the tip, and wetly kissed it, as he would to his boyfriend’s lips. 

Ryuji buried his hands on Akira’s hair, not knowing if he wanted to pull him close or pull him away. It felt so good he was half sure he was going to embarrass himself pretty quickly. 

Akira, though, being the over achieving dumbass that he was, tried to fit it all in his mouth in one go. And obviously proceeded to choke. 

“Shit. You okay, Aki?” Ryuji pulled him away, cradling his face while he coughed a little. It died down quickly, while the blond was wiping away a few stray tears. Akira nuzzled his hand affectionately, laughing softly at himself. 

It was just a surprise, probably. It wasn’t overwhelming. He had thought it would be harder to breathe, but it was surprisingly okay. He just had to build up the pace more carefully. Ryuji’s cock was pleasantly thick, and the slight strain on his jaw felt nice. He just severely underestimated the girth of it blocking his throat. 

“Do you wanna stop?”

“No.” He had liked it, for some reason. The weight on his tongue, the push and pull against his lips, the sounds he could pull out of Ryuji. “I wanna do it again.” His gaze was determined, even if he did feel his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

“Okay.” Ryuji managed with his last brain cell, watching as Akira’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His cock twitched on his hand, and Akira grinned.

“I’m flattered.” 

“S-shut up.”

Akira smirked, but he did shut up. Okay, he had a plan now. Going slow, charting the new territory, and trying to find out the more weaknesses he could. He kissed softly the blond’s inner thighs, dragging his lips over the skin, relishing in the impatient noises Ryuji was making. 

He kissed the base of his cock, noticing the tension on the strong thighs under his hands. 

He was getting impatient himself, but he was stubborn. He was going to make that count. 

He nuzzled the cock with a small smirk, and laughed quietly as he heard Ryuji cursing. It was interesting. He licked a long stripe all the way up, paying a careful attention to the foreskin, smiling as that earned him a moan. 

It was pleasant. He was a little worried about looking silly, so he didn’t look up at the blond. Part of him wanted to, because he would love to be really cocky about it, but he knew he would need a bit of training before that. He was also a little mesmerised at being so close to someone else’s cock, and how good it felt on his hand, against his lips and on his tongue. 

Oh, younger him who thought he could have ever pretended to be straight. He liked it. He liked it a bit more than he was honestly prepared to, and he found himself moaning weakly at the feeling on his lips. 

He lazily kissed the head, tongued it, relishing in the whining and writhing of his boyfriend. He pumped it at the base, and kept the head on his mouth because he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to let go entirely. 

He found that he could almost take the whole thing in. If he put his tongue out, he could touch the base, and it was comfortable doing so.

The blond started thrusting in small movements, probably unable to stop himself, but Akira found that it wasn’t overwhelming, and that he found that quite hot. 

His fingers closed around the base, and he gave it a firm pump, enthralled with the feeling. It was smooth, and it felt heavy on his hand. 

“Aki, c’monn”

Akira went down on him again, wrapping his lips around the thick cock and taking it in, until his lips touched his own hand. 

He started to pump it faster, jerking it more roughly into his mouth. They found a rhythm, and Akira fidgeted a little as his own pants became too tight. Fuck, he really liked giving head. 

Fingers entangled themselves on his curls, next to his nape, and Akira shuddered slightly. His neck was pretty sensitive, and the small petting felt nice. 

He licked a spot just under the head and almost got brained when Ryuji suddenly bucked up. 

“Aki!”

Akira coughed, pulling away to catch his breath. He watched as a few clear drops of precum dripped from the blond’s dick and went right back to it, still a bit breathless. He could tell Ryuji was close, and something in him just wanted to make him come. He sucked harder, and the hands on his hair pulled a little.

He moaned, and Ryuji’s breathing crumbled at the feeling of that deep voice vibrating around his cock. 

Akira realised what was going to happen half a second before it did, and then he realised also that he had to make a choice: pulling away or not. 

Part of him wondered if it would be cooler if he didn’t pull away, but the other part remembered he did just choke trying to give head and that had been embarrassing and he really didn’t want to embarrass himself further. He ended up pulling away, but not fast enough, and that ended up with the blond coming partially over his lips, and quite a bit on his face. 

“Oh God, Aki, I’m sorry.” He was already using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe Akira’s cheek, not wanting it to dry on him and make it hell to wash away. 

Akira was a little worried about Ryuji’s hoodie, but he accepted the gesture. It was kind of sweet. He tucked him in again, but didn’t bother zipping up his pants, since he had other plans for tonight. He got up, and found himself staring at the blond’s pleased face. 

And Ryuji, Ryuji knew electricity, he had wielded it with his bare hands, and yet it had never felt as intense as his desire for that boy. Akira had this flush on his face, and he was still a little breathless, and that smile on his face looked just so damn good.

“Fuck, Aki,” he flipped them, just so he could press that impossible boy against the wall instead. Overthinking was more of Akira’s department, so Ryuji was kissing him without a care in the world. Akira’s lips had looked just so kissable, all wet and plump, and Ryuji was done with stopping himself from kissing that boy. That was so last year. 

He was only half aware that he was pressing him hard against the wall, but Akira was extremely aware of that fact.

That age old question came to his mind again, and he wondered if Ryuji could hold him up against a wall. It certainly felt like he could.

Akira hadn’t realised he had said it aloud until he heard the blond answering.

“Uh, I could try.” 

Akira’s back was pressed harder against the wall, and then it was dragged upwards in a single movement. His legs instinctively wrapped around the blond, to balance himself. 

He looked down slightly to see Ryuji grinning happily at himself.

“Look, Aki! I can totally do it!” 

Akira swallowed dry. He could. God, his boyfriend totally could hold him up against a wall. Akira shivered in appreciation, his dick giving a very interested twitch where it was trapped between the two of them. Ryuji’s mouth latched on the side of his neck, and he was sucking on it lazily. 

Akira let his eyes shut close, a small moan escaping past his lips. Oh God, that was hot. He had never really thought about that in depth. It was just an idea in his head, a curiosity, but now it was happening he had to come into terms that he liked it a lot. It was something about being able to completely let go that was particularly exhilarating, and something about that level of trust that made it feel really intimate.

He swallowed down a tiny moan trying to climb up his throat as Ryuji changed sides and started sucking another love bite on his neck. 

"You should top this time,” Akira finally said what he had been wanting to, since the night began. 

Ryuji pulled back enough to look at him.  
  
"Are you trying to be nice, or do you really wanna bottom?“ he asked just in case, because Akira tended to be a bit of a self-sacrificing idiot, and Ryuji wasn’t the best at reading between the lines. And he wouldn’t mind doing as they did last time, it had been nice enough. Even if he had been wanting to fuck Akira for a while.

"I really want to bottom."

“Alright!” Ryuji said with a bright smile, immediately diving in for a kiss.

He kept his grip on Akira, not letting go until they reached the bed, where he deposited his cargo a little too enthusiastically. 

Akira tugged at the hem of his shirt.

“Off.”

Ryuji complied, letting Akira take his tank top off, but immediately going back to kiss him again. 

His hands were on Akira’s torso, trailing his small waist and delighting in the small shudder that followed his movement. Ryuji ran his hands down that long spine, and something in his heart settled as he looked at Akira’s body, and the way it had filled out nicely since they started living together. He even got a little bit of actual flesh on his love handles, which was adorable in some way. He looked healthy, content and relaxed, laid out in their bed. 

Ryuji didn’t bother taking Akira’s shirt off, just let it bunched up and went for his nipples. Ryuji caught one in his mouth, feeling it hardening against his tongue. He tugged on it with his teeth, and the moan Akira gave off gave the blond a burning curiosity of how that voice sounded when its owner was being fucked. 

Akira squirmed a little in place, biting his lower lip as Ryuji's tongue twisted just a bit around the hard nub. Then he was biting down a bit harder, and Akira swore under a very shaky breath. The blond definitely caught up on it, because he doubled his efforts, tonguing and biting it until Akira was arching up to get some friction on his aching cock. 

Ryuji hooked his fingers on the sides of Akira’s jeans and pulled it off with his underwear. 

Akira gasped, but gathered his wits enough to take the lube by his side, opening it up with slightly trembling hands. His nipples felt almost oversensitive now, and the heat pooling low in his belly was a building pressure that was making him this bit impatient. 

“Uh, ‘s it cool if I do it?” Ryuji tentatively asked. 

Akira blinked a few times. 

“Ok.” 

“Tell me if I do something you don’t like?” 

Akira nodded. 

“Relax, okay?” He was rubbing soothing circles on Akira’s inner thigh. 

He remembered how that had felt, and he had been really grateful for how patient Akira had been. 

Akira's breathing hitched a little as he felt a slippery finger dragging around it, until it slipped in. 

It was noticeably different than doing it himself. The angle was entirely different, the pressure, and he just didn’t know what was going to happen next. 

When a second finger breached him, Akira groaned. One finger was barely noticeable, but two felt definitely good. 

Ryuji was really glad he asked to do this, because it was insanely hot. He could feel just how tight Akira was, and the way he clenched around his fingers when he felt good. He was moving his hips a little bit, getting used to the stretch, but also seemingly trying to get touched in his sweet spot. 

The blond bent down to suck Akira, but was held back with a hand on his shoulder. 

“M-maybe next time. I don’t wanna come yet.” And he was embarrassingly close to it. Because he got way too riled up sucking dick. It couldn’t really get more embarrassing than that. 

“Oh, okay.” Ryuji nodded, swallowing dry. He was used to wanting Akira, but now he could actually do something about it, his desire felt fiercer. Akira was so responsive, and it just made him want to mess him up, to pound into him just to hear the way his smooth voice would crack. 

Ryuji took a deep breath and tried to calm down. 

He tried to remember how Akira did it to him. He had spent a lot of time prepping him, and Ryuji could say it definitely paid off, because his experience wasn’t nearly as painful as people said his first time would be. He wanted to do the same for Akira. 

He went for it, stretching him nicely and using a lot of lube- because one could never be too sure- and spending a lot of time on it. Slow, careful, almost hesitant when he went for a third finger and Akira hissed for some moments. Ryuji kept at it until he had Akira sighing lazily again, long enough for his cock to get hard again, making his job of keeping cool and not immediately thrusting in a lot more difficult. 

For his luck, though, Akira was just as impatient. 

“I’m good now, c’mon.”

Ryuji stopped, unsure about what he should do next. 

“How do you wanna do this?”

“I think I could ride you?” Akira proposed, a little embarrassed.

“S-Sure,” Ryuji gasped out, because at the moment any position sounded like a good idea if he could just bury himself deep into his boyfriend’s tight ass. He picked up a condom and put it on while Akira watched, grey eyes following the motion with an interested glint on them. 

Akira put his hands on very defined shoulder blades and used them to brace himself and slowly sit on his lover’s thick cock.

He gasped at the stretch, mouth hung open as he kept working down, Ryuji’s hands on his hips steadying and slowing his progress. When he bottomed out, Akira stopped, letting out a shaky breath against the blond’s lips, both breathing heavily at the feeling.

It was… more emotionally overwhelming than Akira was expecting. Despite everything, the stretch stung, and they were really close. There was a vulnerability to it, one he hadn’t been expecting. 

Ryuji could buck up and it would really hurt. There was also something about feeling pain while the other person wasn’t, and the amount of trust involved caught Akira entirely off guard. It was definitely nerve inducing. 

But the hold was familiar, and safe, and patient as they stayed still. 

He caught Ryuji’s lips in a kiss, sighing against his mouth. When he pulled away, the blond started kissing his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin in a soothing but arousing movement. 

Akira moaned softly. The stretch started to feel good. He tried moving, up and down in controlled motions, feeling the strain on his thighs. 

He felt so full, and it was good somehow. He raised his hips again, and plopped down with intent, feeling Ryuji’s fat cock stretching him in one go. He gasped out a choked moan, closing his eyes at the feeling. He decided to pick up the pace. 

The blond was giving small thrusts upwards, chanting his hips just a little, hands on Akira’s waist, following the movements more than forcing him down. 

Which is why he noticed when Akira’s rhythm faltered a few moments later, hips stuttering in their movements.

“Aki, you okay?” he asked, worriedly.

“Ugh.” Akira huffed, panting against his boyfriend’s lips. “My thighs are sore.” It sounded a little like a whine, but he was getting too frustrated to care. 

Ryuji bit back a laugh. 

"That's what you get, exercising only your upper body. This is karma, you poked fun at me for doing squats.” Akira groaned, blushing slightly. It was true. Ryuji chuckled, but pushed Akira over, carefully laying his back on the bed. 

“Shut up.” Akira looped his arms around the blond’s neck, going back to kissing him.

Ryuji kissed back, bringing pale thighs to wrap around his waist and just rocking his hips in a firm motion that drew out a delicious moan from Akira. 

Akira looked down, taking in the ripped body between the v of his pale legs, and, fuck, it was hot. The blond had beautiful abs, not bulging but heavily defined. His arms were tense as they lay holding his lover's thighs open, with a strong grip, and Akira loved it.  
  
It was a definite turn on, having that strength focused solely in himself, in holding him and fucking him nicely. The new position felt great, and he relaxed a little more into it. The blond’s hips were rocking in a slow but steady pace.  
  
Stupid athletes and their stupid stamina. Akira felt like his legs were made of jelly, and his boyfriend was still able to keep fucking him good. His rhythm hardly faltered at all, thigh muscles tense but ready for the challenge.

"F-fuck, you're strong,” he said in a shaky breath, giving a moan at the small thrust his words earned him.   
  
"You think?" Ryuji asked, sounding a bit surprised and a bit like he wasn’t entirely paying attention, rolling his hips a little harder. He was far too distracted drinking in the small gasp Akira gave, the way his hips buckled and he relaxed more into the feeling of being penetrated. Ryuji felt a sudden adrenaline rush at seeing it, at making that boy start to come undone in pleasure. He found himself getting oddly addicted to that feeling. "Glad you like it, Aki." He murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to his boyfriend's mouth, one hand cradling his head into a better angle.  
  
To think those plump and soft lips were wrapped around his dick a few minutes ago, and that tongue was licking him earnestly. The thought alone was hot, and the blond was really grateful he had come before, or else he might've popped then and there. 

Akira had eyes half lidded, face flushed in pleasure, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. He tried to push against the cock inside him, bring it to rub where he wanted, but he was a bit uncoordinated for it, and ended up just squirming a bit in place. Which had no business being that adorable, in Ryuij’s opinion. But it wasn’t everyday one caught Akira not excelling in something he was aiming for, and it felt kind of precious. It was also the green light the blond had been waiting for. 

He was good at gut feelings, and trusting his instincts.  
  
Akira could feel the blond’s muscles tensing in his back, and the next thrust was so fierce Akira was half sure he could feel that cock on his throat. His mouth fell open in a soundless scream. 

It hurt, but it hurt _good_ , and Akira might have found religion. 

Akira realized then that Ryuji was just being careful before, and this is what he did when he meant business. He thrusted in hard, fast, and with a single minded focus that was a thrilling turn on. 

It felt like an overload of sensory information, and Akira’s mind was finally silent as his body let go and just enjoyed the ride. 

He was half aware of keening and moaning, and urging him on, to please, please, just keep going. Ryuji delivered, he was pounding Akira into the bed with huge satisfaction. His hands were gripping Akira’s hips with an iron clad, manhandling him in position, and he was rubbing inside everywhere. It felt incredible. Akira arched his back a little, he knew his good spot, he just needed to angle his hips a bit to get-

The head of the blond’s dick rubbed him inside just right, and Akira’s following moan was almost a sob. 

His own cock twitched where it lay on his stomach, small droplets of precum being forced out of it. 

He looked almost grateful, and Ryuji definitely, definitely was getting addicted to the feeling of pleasing someone like that. Akira was just so deliciously sensitive, and he looked so hot when he was like that, taking it up so eagerly, his curls messy, face flushed, shirt bunched up, debauched. His half dressed state looked even hotter than if he was entirely naked somehow. 

“Oh God, please.” His voice was wrecked. “Ryuji, p-please.”

A tear slipped down Akira’s face, and the blond stopped dead, to which Akira immediately whined and tried to get his words out.

“Am I hurting you?” Ryuji asked, worried, keeping terribly still. 

“Fuck, d-don’t stop!” Akira finally found his voice to say. He’d beg, he’d fucking beg for more of that. “Just keep fucking me, I-I can’t- please, hngh-” he almost whimpered out of sheer relief when Ryuji started moving again. Still not as hard as before, and it was pure torture. “Just do me hard, I-I’m-“ his next moan was a whiny little thing, and he clutched Ryuji closer, legs wrapped around him just so he could feel him bucking into him. He groaned in satisfaction. “Just like that-” that maddening rhythm was back, and Akira forgot whatever he was going to say, using the little breath he had to give out a small sob. “It feels so good.”

Whatever small shred of self control the blond still had flew right out of the window. 

Ryuji took one of Akira’s legs and pushed it up, one greedy hand on a pale thigh, pushing it down as far as it would go, and, by God, it was pretty far. Akira’s knee was touching his own chest, and his entrance was plainly visible this way, pink and glistening, absolutely stuffed. Akira was shamelessly exposed now, panting hard as the pleasure mounted, every nerve of his body alight. He was close, painfully close. 

“R-Ryuji, I’m-“ 

His pretty mouth fell open when the blond thrusted in at the new angle.

Akira came with a punched out cry, moaning brokenly with each spurt his cock gave out, turning his head so he could hide his flushed face into the pillow, embarrassed with how noisy he was being. They weren’t perfectly synchronized, so Ryuji was still thrusting inside, he just kept going, fucking him through his orgasm, and Akira couldn’t even breathe. 

He whimpered a little as his orgasm started to die down, still high strung. 

There was a curse, and breathless kisses on his throat, and then the blond was coming, and Akira shivered, whispering praises into his ear. 

Ryuji half collapsed on top of him, but Akira could barely care, it felt awesome too, being that close. He closed his eyes and tried to cope with the dizzying pleasure still singing in his blood. He felt out of it, feeling too good to even try and string a thought to another. 

A few moments passed before any of them said anything.

“You with me?” The blond asked between soft kisses on Akira’s face. 

Akira hummed, leaning more into the kisses, liking the attention. 

Which was unbearably cute, and Ryuji just wanted to cuddle with that boy. He shifted away, pulling out carefully. 

Akira startled even so. There was a trickle of warmth inside him, and he gasped at the feeling. When his boyfriend pulled out, there was a wet sound, and he felt something dripping.  
  
"What...? The blond was checking his boyfriend's lithe body for any injuries, but just found his hole dripping with cum. He swallowed dry, feeling guilty, because he knew he shouldn’t be thinking about it, but it looked really hot.

Ryuji looked at himself, and finally noticed the condom had ripped. "Sorry, babe, I think the condom popped for some reason." 

"Probably... " Akira forced the words out of his abused throat. " 'cause you kept thrusting a little after you filled the tip. Liquids..." he was kind of gathering his wits again, lightheaded with the aftershocks. Fuck, he felt awesome. There was this soreness in his body, and, honestly, inside of him, that was absolutely delicious. His hips ached a little, and he loved every second of it. He wondered if that was what people called being 'thoroughly fucked'. “Liquids are incompressible." His voice was a little hoarse and Ryuji loved how that sounded. He wanted to beat that score, badly.  
  
"You're such a nerd."

"The word you're looking for is smart. Scholar. Erudite." 

Ryuji quickly leaned forward and sneaked a lick on his boyfriend’s lips, receiving a startled yelp.  
  
"Nope, taste like a nerd to me." He grinned widely at his own joke. 

"Screw you." Akira tried to smack him with a pillow, a small smile betraying his words.  
  
"What, no witty reply to me? Who're you and what did you do to my best friend?" Ryuji smiled widely, holding the offending pillow before it could hit him.  
  
"Ugh, shut it. I'm feeling too good to think. You did awesome. Forget what I said about your cock being smaller, it's perfect."  
  
"Duude!” Ryuji exclaimed, scandalized. “You can't just say my dick is smaller! And besides, we’ve settled that your cock might be longer, but mine is thicker, so technically you can't say I'm smaller.”  
  
"Why are you so difficult? I just complimented you for it."  
  
"Oh wait, that's right.” Ryuji immediately brightened up at that, and, oh, his sunny smile did things to poor Akira’s heart. His blabbering, however, was mortifying. “Wait! Are you saying I made you cum so hard you couldn't even sass me anymore?"  
  
"You're so crude, I can't believe you."  
  
"May I point out you started this whole conversation with how much you loved my cock in you? Like, just saying."  
  
"You can’t be mean to me,” Akira whined, hiding part of his face on a pillow, showing a glare with one eye to the blond. “You just came inside me, and it’ll be hell to clean up, you should be pampering me.”  
  
“Oh, I'm really sorry ‘bout that, babe, lemme help.” He tried to get up to find something to help clean up a little, but Akira held his wrist. 

“No, wait, don’t go.”

Ryuji’s expression softened, and he kissed his cheek, hugging him close to his chest and rubbing soothing circles on his back. Akira closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the kisses on his face, and on his shoulder. 

“But for real, you okay?” 

He nodded, face still nestled on the crook of the blond’s neck. 

“I’ll just get us something to clean up this stuff.” He kissed his cheek and got up to fetch a washcloth. Akira reluctantly let go. He was noticing a bit of a pattern about himself. He got a lot cuddly after sex. And this time he felt it even more, because there was something a little scary about letting himself be that vulnerable in front of someone else. It just soothed him being held afterwards, even if he still didn’t quite understand why. 

He was getting drowsy already, and he just wanted to cuddle and go to sleep. 

He was very moody as he realised he’d have to get up and shower thoroughly, because Ryuji had come inside. 

Ryuji offered to help, but it was too mortifying, having him do that, so Akira turned him down. 

  
  
He sat alone in the bathtub, letting the hot water soothe his muscles. He decided to soak just a little bit, so he wouldn’t be too sore on the next day. His mind drifted off, and he found himself thinking back on what just happened. 

Ryuji wasn’t trying to tease him before, or play games, he was really just trying to take care of him. Which had all the good points of teasing, as in the build up, but it also made it easier to feel entirely safe with him, because the blond didn’t want to manipulate him in any way, even if it was in good nature. And Akira was still sensitive about being played, and deceived, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to have to beg for anything. He was still figuring it out. 

Ryuji, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy being teased, something Akira was thankful for. He didn’t want to humiliate him, it was never his intention and he never really thought about it. He was just a bit of a bastard who liked teasing people. He never considered he might feel differently about being the one begging. There was something very vulnerable about letting someone else take the lead, and he had been already nervous enough about that to let go of even more control. 

He noticed, also, that Ryuji really liked his smirks, and he had kind of a huge thing for compliments. 

He had also very good stamina, and he could really put those muscles to good use, and Akira might have a thing for that. He wasn’t expecting to like it on the rougher side, but there was something about being able to completely let go, and about feeling everything so intensely, and not being scared at all. And it felt awesome having a high like that, and then being gently brought down, with all the kisses and cuddling he could wish for. 

Akira was filling away all of these observations, because he was nothing if not through with everything he did in life, and he was learning how Ryuji ticked even if it was the last thing he did in life. 

Ryuji wasn’t manipulative, in the least, and it always felt safe talking to him. If he didn’t like something, he’d say it. If he disagreed with someone he’d tell them. If he didn’t like someone, he wouldn’t pretend he did. He didn’t play mind games, and he didn’t talk in circles. He usually tried saying what he meant, and he asked direct questions. It was… Oddly enough, it made him solidly reliable. Most people usually took Akira for the reliable one, and he was, in a sense. He could be counted on to study, and to try hard, and to take on impossible risks, and to keep a level head. 

But Ryuji was reliable in a way Akira appreciated so dearly. It wasn’t about his grades, or his temper, but something about the constancy of his honesty, and how he stubbornly kept himself that way, even after being hurt so many times. Ryuji kept trying to help, and to reach out for people, he wore his heart on his sleeve in a way that was a little terrifying to watch, and he never tried to manipulate anyone, no matter how much he had been manipulated before. It was refreshing, and reassuring, and it was just this easier to breathe next to him, knowing he just wouldn’t try to control him in any way. 

He sighed and got out of the bath, because he was sleepy, and he wanted to go back to bed and cuddle with Ryuji.

After he got out, he put on a loose t-shirt and boxers. He ended up with his head on the blond’s arm, huddled together as close as they could, one leg thrown over his boyfriend’s, content as the blond started running a hand through his hair. 

Ryuji smiled. His love language was touching, and it felt awesome having it so well received. It was just… There was something about being himself and being appreciated for it. 

Akira sighed happily. A whole new world had opened up to him when he discovered cuddling. He absolutely loved it. 

Ryuji had actually changed the bedsheets- he probably felt really bad about coming inside without Akira’s consent, even if it was an accident-, and Akira was really pleased at lying on the freshly laundered sheets. 

God, he felt awesome. The pleasure still made his body thrum with warmth, and he felt like he didn't want to move ever again. His legs were a little shaky but it felt so damn good. He was starting to get that there was good sex, and there was awesome sex, and while last time had been really good, this time had been amazing. He might have a thing for bottoming. 

It had been messy, and half of him was worried about laundry, but it had been so worth it. Even more so now, in dry and clean clothes, freshly showered. He was comfortably drowsy, like someone who had spent too long in the sun, minus the uncomfortable feverish feeling it came with it. He was ready to sleep tomorrow away. 

He most likely would, because his hips and lower back ached a little already. 

He turned to lie on his side, and it hurt. Maybe going too rough wasn't that fun afterwards. But then Ryuji was back, and he was kissing his temple, and petting his hair, and softly asking if he was okay, and Akira decided he loved it. 

Akira got to kiss him while his lips were still forming that lively upwards curve, and he kissed it until it bloomed into a small laugh, happy all over. 

How nice it had been to fall asleep together after that.

To wake up next morning, though? Not so much. 

Akira winced a little. Yep, as expected, he was kinda sore.

His neck tingled with the hickeys he received the day before. They were so dumb. Akira knew it'd be a pain if he got one of those, he knew it was generally frowned upon walking around with one, and he knew people usually thought of immature brats and jealous lovers when they saw one. He shouldn't have let it happen.  
  
But. But Akira's weak spot happened to be his neck, and he liked said spot being bitten or sucked on. 

They were lucky Ryuji hadn't bottomed last night. His weak spot was just below his ear, and there was no way he'd be able to hide it. Well, to be fair, with those tank tops he wouldn't be hiding anything anyway. At least Akira in a turtleneck wasn't that uncommon. 

They’d have to be careful when Summer came around. Haru had invited them to go to a hotel her family owned, and everything was set for their trip to the beach. Maybe they should just avoid having sex during their trip. How difficult could that be? 

Just because Ryuji’s skin tanned beautifully, and Akira happened to like the contrast with his blond hair that didn’t have to mean anything. Or just because Ryuji would be shirtless a lot, and Akira really liked seeing that... And Haru, bless her soul, had actually promised them a room for themselves. And Akira may or may not be thinking a lot about how he really wanted to... 

Screw that, he could always put on some waterproof makeup.

He got up and made a face at the movement, but he had classes today and he had to get moving. 

Ryuji was lazing around in the bed, considering if he should go for his jog. His eyes caught sight of Akira’s naked back, the love bites on his shoulder, as he looked for clothes in the clos-

Shit!

“Ryuji, what’s this?” Akira asked, holding up what was definitely his White Day present. Ryuji had been so used to hiding things inside his room he forgot they now shared a room and there was no point in trying to hide things there. 

“Er… It’s a… thing for exercise! I bought it for me yesterday.” 

“It’s wrapped up.”

“I-I wanted to treat myself so I asked for a pretty package?” Ryuji tried.

“The card says ‘to Aki’”.

Ryuji choked on his own spit. 

“Can I open it?”

“No! That’s for White Day!”

“Not even a peek?” he asked, and his hair looked so pretty all tousled up like that, a hopeful look in his eyes. All soft in the early morning, his lips curled in a tentative smile.

Ryuji lasted a total of ten seconds.

“Argh, alright! Why d’ya always convince me?”

Akira smiled widely, mentally patting himself on the back for having worked so hard on his charm. 

“Thanks!” he excitedly replied, already getting to work on the wrapping. He had always been a curious person, and by the weight of the gift it might be...

“I love it,” he said softly, looking down at the shark’s toothy smile. It reminded him a bit of Ryuji’s smile, and he had wanted it as soon as he landed his eyes on it. It was soft, and the size was just right. “Thank you, I love it.” 

Well, surprises might be overrated, Ryuji thought to himself as Akira tackled him into a hug, smiling against his shoulder. 

  
  


Akira had really loved his gift, and it was clear to see. 

Akira took to napping with the stuffed animal Ryuji gave him. Which meant Ryuji lost his spot next to his boyfriend for afternoon cuddles. 

“I think I hate a plushie,” he said aloud. Morgana swatted at his arm.

“This is your fault! I lost my cuddling spot too!” The cat looked sullenly at the plushie. 

“It was your idea!” 

“B-but you agreed with it!” 

“It sounded like a good idea at the time!” 

They shared a commiserating long sigh. Akira nuzzled the stupid toy, and Ryuji promised himself next year he wouldn’t listen to magical talking cats and would just buy Akira a ring or something.

  
  
  
  


As time passed, Akira got more comfortable about receiving affection. Every time he had it, he looked a little less guilty about it, this bit more confident he might deserve it. Until, without him noticing, he understood it was not about deserving. 

The blond came home one day to find his boyfriend and Mona lying on the floor, disputing the spot where the sunlight was best, unashamedly basking in the warmth. Ryuji did a double take.

“What is this, how I ended up with two cats?” 

“I’m not a cat!” Came the twin reply from the two on the floor. 

“You both kinda are, thoug- Hey! What was that for?!” He barely ducked the cushion Akira threw at him. The bastard had excellent aim.

“Come here.” Akira beckoned him, and Ryuji sat down on the floor, by the sofa.

Akira laid his head on his boyfriend's lap, manhandling his hand until it was on his head. “You should stop making fun of me and pet my hair.” 

Ryuji tried to hold back a fond smile on his face, because he really shouldn’t keep incentivizing Akira on his bullshit, but he was just adorable when he was butting his head on his hand like a spoiled cat. 

“You so are a cat. I bet you're more a cat than Mona.” 

Morgana snickered, seemingly very pleased. 

“Morgana, why don't you stop making fun of me as well, and bring me your brush? We can be groomed together.” 

“Ooh!” the cat immediately perked up at the idea, jumping to its paws to run after his brush. “I'd prefer if Shiho brushed my fur, but I guess you will do,” he said, just so he wouldn’t appear too eager. Truth was that Akira was still his favourite. 

There was peace while they stayed there, but eventually Ryuji really had to get up because his legs were cramping. Akira wasn’t that heavy, but his weight on his folded legs was noticeable. 

When Ryuji looked down, though, Akira was sound asleep. 

Oh no. Akira slept on his lap, and now he couldn't get up! 

“Psss, Mona. What do I-” he stopped mid sentence as he realized the tuxedo cat was also sleeping, curled up next to Akira. 

“I guess I live here now.” He sighed, resigning himself to his fate. He rested his arm on the couch, chin on one hand, while his other hand kept petting his boyfriend's silky curls. Akira seemed peaceful for once, his expression impossibly soft. He really liked being held, and sleeping next to them. He still felt unsafe sometimes, and being asleep was being vulnerable, as he had known by the hands of the police, and as he had feared in his house. 

Ryuji kept caressing his hair. The setting sun was warm and comfortable, and he started feeling drowsy. He ended up falling asleep too, the three of them a small pile in the living room. 

  
  
  
  


And they settled, sliding easily into the gaps of each other's lives. Akira had been expecting more problems, but things were fine. They were good even.  
  
Akira never really dropped his affectionate side, even when they were past what people called puppy eye love. He was still a cuddle bug, and Ryuji was happy to indulge him. They both had been lacking that kind of good attention, soft and reassuring touches. They had always been in each other's personal space, since day one, and they never stopped. The closeness that didn't hurt was something they've learned to treasure. 

And Akira felt free in all the small ways his new life let him be, all the ways he had longed for in the past.  
  
And for Ryuji it wasn't a big deal. Sometimes, he'd pull down Akira's slacks and find him in some sinful pair of panties, and his boyfriend (girlfriend) would have a wicked and charming grin. It would almost look like Akira was just messing with him, if he didn't have pairs of absolutely regular panties mixed with his boxers, and he used them all, enjoying that small freedom he couldn't have at his parents' place.  
  
Akira said he didn't really feel the need to wear a dress or anything, but he did have some clothes from the women's section, which he wore in a clash of styles, and ended up looking like the very definition of the soft lines between genders, and he felt awesome. Ann kept conspiring with him about new styles and possible looks, and they would laugh afternoons away like that. He was still working up his courage to buy other sorts of clothes, unashamedly women's clothes. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but it had been fun and liberating experimenting with everything, at his own pace. But he was feeling more daring each day, and the idea of putting on full makeup and stockings wasn’t that scary anymore. He didn’t think he’d want to do it everyday, but maybe once in a while would be nice.  
  
He'd laze around in their living room wearing just a shirt and some woman's ridiculously short shorts, that showed off his round ass, or sometimes he would wear a crispy suit to some over the top date he imagined, and it was all good.  
  
And Ryuji was learning how to be unashamed of himself, and he'd hold Akira's hand when he could, and carry a photo of him, and wear his love struck expression anywhere he went. He was happy and in love. He felt free. He wasn’t hiding their relationship, nor flaunting it. It wasn’t that common for people to pry, anyway.

He wondered how it’d be if society changed enough, to the point no one would ever have to come out of the closet anymore, because there would be no expectations about a standard gender identity or sexuality. 

That small place in his heart, where Captain Kidd still roared, from where Skull had drawn strength, wanted to make that happen. He had been the one to propose they started the Phantom Thieves. He had always wanted to change things.  
  
He told Akira his idea, and there was a Joker like quality to the glimmer of his eyes. Not unlike when he proudly declared in a live transmission: “we’ll take this country.”. Not unlike when Ryuji had quietly suggested they kept going as phantom thieves. A goal, a mission, a purpose, and Akira always shone the brightest when he had something to fight for. 

Maybe he could make it in time for Lala to see it, and be proud of him. So she too would have a better life, because she, and so many others deserved it. Because there were so many ways of stealing hearts, and Akira looked forward to meeting new accomplices. He still had a lot in him, and he'd take this country by a storm again. 

And with their new goal, Morgana also jumped right into it, excited to help again. Akira was studying, and there were new expectations for him. He had to be even smarter, and kinder, and deadly charming if he wanted to succeed. They found new books together, and trained together, and found new places to go. Mona could once more walk around the bustling streets inside Akira’s bag, and everything was new and interesting.

And when he wasn’t in his bag, he was still sniffing around, trying to find new things to try and to recommend to Akira. Or even to just have fun with the other thieves. Mona had a place, finally, and he felt confident enough to have his own friendships, to have his fill of all humanity had to show for him. 

Just on the other day, Morgana found a reliable source about how to be more charming, and Akira was dutifully testing it out on Ryuji.

“The view is beautiful,” he said to him, fixing a dreamy gaze at the blond. 

Ryuji did a double take at the window behind him, frowning.

“Huh? Our window gets to another wall?” 

Morgana groaned in the background. 

“I thought that one would work but Ryuji’s thick as they come.” 

Akira blushed slightly, and his voice dropped a little. 

“Well, he is. Really thick.” 

“Aki!” Ryuji shrieked, mortified. The cat, thankfully, didn’t get the double meaning. “Also, Mona what’re you doing?” 

“Akira has to polish his charm if he wants to succeed in his political career, so I’m giving him pointers.” The cat preened from his seat on the couch. “You’re our test subject, poor as it is.” 

“At least I’m not a cat. And where do you even learn those awful pick up lines?” 

“Uh…” The cat stuttered.

“It was a teens magazine,” Akira said.

“Every source can be a valuable source!” the cat countered. “Come on Akira, let’s go through some other ones.” 

“Aki! C’mon, man, you don’t have to flirt with me, we’re dating already!” 

Ryuji usually didn’t get the pickup lines, as if he couldn’t quite get why anyone would flirt with him. But oh, when he did get it, he blushed really fiercely, but looked quite pleased, and Akira loved seeing it. It was satisfying making the blond feel appreciated, seeing his own value. 

Morgana’s tips might be a little unconventional, but the cat had helped him build Joker’s charm, and apparently that was quite impressive. 

He pecked Ryuji’s lips, to which Mona shrieked and complained, until Akira came back and scratched his ears too. Mona wouldn’t let himself fall to last place, oh no sir. 

The cat didn’t really seem to get the point of kisses and anything beyond that. But he did demand pats when Akira came back home from somewhere he couldn’t tag along, because Ryuji received pecks when Akira came back and it didn’t look fair. 

The cat wasn’t interested in kisses at all though. Only strategic fur petting behind his ears, as was appropriate for the majestic creature that he was. And sushi. Sushi was always appropriate. 

Akira couldn’t always bring him sushi, but good fish was also a good option. Also, cheaper than meat, so, surprisingly, Ryuji was the one with the expensive taste. Akira was always attentive to local sales, though, and did his best with their budget. 

Even if he did tend to buy some stupid stuff, egged on by his cat, who also didn’t have a lot of common sense. 

Akira was a menace with his impulsive buying. Every day, when Ryuji arrived home and found a new box, he was in for a surprise.

“Why would you buy pistachio flavoured lube?!” he found himself saying, one of these days.

“Uh… It’s a limited edition?” Akira answered with a shrug. 

Ryuji sighed, sitting down and opening the tube. Well, it smelled nice. And they were kind of getting through a few tubes of lube lately. He flushed at the memories that arose suddenly. 

Akira was cheerfully showing Morgana the new cups he bought, which were shaped like small kitten paws. Morgana, the menace, was talking about some tablecloth he saw in a magazine that Akira _just couldn’t not have_ in his home, and Ryuji wondered what he was thinking when he thought Akira was the responsible one of them. 

Akira loved to buy random stuff. He got giddy and happy whenever another box came to him, and Morgana also loved looking at shop catalogues with him. He didn’t do it at his parent’s because everything he bought was checked by his mother, but here? He found the amazing freedom Sojiro had granted him once, and he was thriving. 

At least he was good enough at math, and their finances were holding up okay.

  
  
  


Daily life had a lot of challenges, not unlike being a phantom thief. Akira had to be careful with their funds, and study hard, and practice his talking skills. 

He also had to be considerate about what was the best way to interact with his confidants, which was his current dilemma. 

He wanted a hug, but Ryuji was busy making dinner. It was his turn to do it this week. Akira considered the situation at hand. He could just wrap his arms around the unsuspecting blond, tilt his head up a little and rest his chin on a strong shoulder blade. 

He just had to act like it was normal, then it wouldn’t be embarrassing. 

And be stealthy. Stealth was the key. 

“Gah!” Ryuji almost chopped his finger off, but caught himself in time. “Aki!”

He felt this bit vindicated seeing a small blush high on Akira’s face. He could pull the moves, the smooth bastard, but he was smitten enough, and inexperienced enough, to feel a bit shy. 

“Hi.” Akira’s smile was a bit bashful. 

“Oh. Er… ‘sup?” Ryuji felt his face warm. The hands around his waist were gentle, and before he could really say something else, Akira kissed his shoulder and Ryuji died a little inside. 

“Woah, is that fish?!” Morgana excitedly exclaimed, jumping on Akira’s shoulder, and now resting his paws on Ryuji’s head to see better. 

“Aah! Mona! Can’t you just jump on the counter or something?” The cat barely acknowledged his flailing arms, balancing entirely on the blond’s head, greedy blue eyes fixated on the fillet. 

“Hm, I could, if you gave me that fatty slice over there.” 

“Get outta my head, dumb cat.” 

“What did you say?!” Mona pretended to glare at him, just to feint to the right and dive left for the fillet. “Ha! That’s why you’re still green, Skull!” he taunted, running away with the fish. 

“Little thief! Aki, do something!”

“I don’t control the angry cat.” 

Ryuji turned to look for the fish stealing cat, but snapped his head back as he felt the slightest movement on his side. 

By then, it was too late, and Akira was running away with a freshly fried shrimp caught between his teeth. 

“Hey! These are for dinner!” 

Ryuji groaned. What was he expecting anyway, living with a bunch of thieves?

  
  


Ryuhi himself was, in his own way, fighting bravely the obstacles of daily life.

Such as being woken up by a cat at ass o’clock because said cat decided it was too hungry to wait.

“Hey blondie.” 

“Ughh! Why ‘s always me? Wake up Akira for a change!” 

“He sleeps through your snoring, you think it’s easy waking him up?” 

“I don’t snore.” 

“If you sleep funny you do. You did it in mementos all the time.” 

“But I haven’t snored since coming here!” 

“Okay, it’s because he looks peaceful for once and you know his sleeping schedule is still a mess,” Mona admitted, looking away. 

Akira had finally adjusted to their presence, not waking up at every small sound they made. He could fall asleep to the sound of their voices, which said a lot about how as ease he was with them. 

Ryuji sighed. Ok, he would have to agree with Mona on that one. It just felt mean waking up Akira when he had finally started to feel that safe around them even asleep. 

He took a fortifying breath and tried to disentangle himself. 

Akira didn’t budge, refusing to let his warm pillow escape. Said pillow sighed. Akira nuzzled his neck in an adorable gesture, and Ryuji was good as rooted in place. 

“Mona, your breakfast will have to wait.” 

“Geez, you’re so weak, Ryuji,” the cat whined, mourning his breakfast. 

“Said the one who felt bad about waking him up!” 

The cat spluttered, not having expected to have it pointed out to him. 

“Well, what else could I do, you guys keep buying cans of food that I can’t open with my paws.” 

“It’s for your own good, Mona, cats get fat easily.” Akira’s voice was rough with sleep. 

Ryuji was already passed out again as the cat shrieked about not being a cat, and him not being fat, and no, that scale was just broken it has nothing to do with all the snacks and treats Akira kept giving him. 

Mona was officially Akira’s cat, so Ryuji unashamedly slept through it all. 

  
  
  
  


Time flew, and before they knew it, Summer was there again, and on the very next day they were going to the beach. 

Ryuji woke up in the middle of the night, after napping for a few hours, and he just couldn’t go back to sleep. He kept thinking about their trip, and how awesome it was going to be, and his mind kept going in circles. 

He pulled out his phone, ready to waste his precious hours of sleep to the same websites. 

Arms sneaked around his waist, and he was being pulled closer to a sleepy Akira. 

“Go to sleep.” His voice was raspy, and he was warm from sleep. He kissed the blond’s neck and nuzzled it slightly, earning himself a small chuckle, and winning Ryuji over to the sleepers' side. It was easier when Akira pulled him closer, and when Ruuji could focus on his steady heartbeat and on that soothing hand on his back. 

It was a lot nicer than when he was caught by Morgana. The cat would knock the phone off his hand, and Ryuji, trapped as he usually was by Akira’s sleeping form would have no way of getting his phone back. Then he’d have to be bored until he eventually fell asleep. It worked, but it was boring. 

His schedule had never been healthier. He was also studying more, and he actually had a lot more time to do things. Futaba was right, Mona was some sort of walking agenda, or a stack of sticky notes reminders, and it was a lot easier to keep track of time with said cat annoying him about his chores. He had never been more productive, and it actually felt nice to have so many things done, but he wasn’t saying that aloud. 

  
  
On the next day, as soon as they stepped out of Haru’s car, they were met with that beautiful sound of sea, and a sun so bright it painted the world in too saturated colours. The sky was bright, and the water glimmered in the horizon. 

Ryuji whooped, running towards the sand, being followed by a shrieking Futaba, and soon all of them were running as well, too excited to wait a minute longer. 

They played in the water for a while, until most of them were begging for a break. Futaba flopped on the sand, on top of one of the towels they borrowed from the hotel. Yusuke had already wandered off, looking for the perfect landscape to sketch. Makoto and Haru went off to buy them some drinks, and Akira offered to help. 

When they got back, Ann and Ryuji were back from the water as well, and even Yusuke had come back for the cold drinks. Makoto had them apply more sunscreen, and then they were back to their activities. Ann decided to check out a nearby store so she could buy a pretty sunhat, and Haru, Makoto and Yusuke decided to go with her. 

The remaining thieves stayed under the parasol, wary of the too bright sun. Futaba was still lying down, having spent the little stamina she had early, and needing more time to rest. Akira was helping Morgana to get rid of some of the sand he got stuck to his fur, so it wouldn’t get into his eyes. 

Soon, the cat grew bored with it, and decided to go after Ann to look at some hats. 

“Hmm, I think I wanna swim some more,” Ryuji said after a minute or two.

Akira ran his fingers through the blond wet hair, enjoying the texture. It was short, and spiked, nothing like a girl's, and absolutely wonderful to touch. Ryuji beamed at him, leaning on one elbow to turn to him, the two impossibly close. 

"Ugh you're the worst. You're made to each other,” Futaba groaned from her spot, but didn’t move. 

Ryuji laughed that adorable laugh, and for all loud he was, he had the cutest laugh, small and happy, almost a giggle. He pressed that laugh to Akira's lips, and he tasted like the sea. 

"Ok, I'll take another swim!" And off he went. 

When the afternoon was ending, Futaba remembered the sparkles Sojiro had given her to share with her friends, so she insisted she came back to get them. She absolutely loved the lights, and just spinning her arms the fastest she could. She also wanted to wash her glasses because they were gross and she couldn’t see well. 

“I wanna wash out the salt from my hair before we come back for the fireworks,” Ann said.

Yusuke hummed, thoughtful. 

“I’ll stay back, I wish to select colourful seashells.”

Morgana’s ears perked up.

“Oh? I think I saw a pink seashell around that rock over there.” He fell into step with the artist, complaining about how much smoke fireworks produced and how he hoped the seabreeze kept him safe this year.

“Me and Mako-chan wanted to try Ann’s hair routine, so we’ll be going as well!” Haru said excitedly.

“Ryuji? Do you wanna go back or wait here?” Akira asked as their friends started to disperse.

“So… hm. I was thinking…” the blond mumbled, a hand on his neck as he looked away. “I’ve heard there’s, like, a good spot to watch the sunset and stuff.” The tips of his ears were positively red. “D’ya wanna go with me?”

Akira had watched the sunset in Hawaii with a pretty girl before. Pretty and gentle and awesome, but he didn’t like her like that, so it hadn’t felt like getting that clumsy invitation from the boy he loved. 

He nodded, because he couldn’t find his voice. How could he have words when, suddenly, everything that had felt outright impossible was just in reach of his fingertips?

The sun started to sink in the horizon, and his best friend’s hand was clasping his firmly. 

And he wondered if that happiness had always been possible despite all appearances. If, taking out one thing or another, if making a different choice on a non descript day, would make it any less possible. 

"Do you ever wonder about… If there are alternative realities to this one?” he asked in those precious seconds of dying daylight. “Maybe there's a version of me out there, who lived in an odd timeline and never stumbled into this one. I just happened to be the me from this reality out of hundreds of parallel ones. I wonder if in one of them I didn't step up for that woman." 

Ryuji considered the idea for a bit, then shook his head.

"Nah. I'm sure there ain't." 

"And why's that?" 

"Well, no matter the reality, you will always be you, and I can bet anything you want you'd have saved her, and saved me too, by the way. You’re awesome, dude.” He turned a bright smile at Akira, eyes squinted with how widely he was smiling. 

Akira bit his own lip, heart flipping in his chest at seeing that smile. At being there, holding hands, loving without a single regret in life. 

How did he even get there, for God’s sake?

"You think there's any of me out there who didn't get to date you?" 

"Hmmm... nah,” Ryuji waved his free hand dismissively. “Maybe in some of them we took longer, and maybe you ended up dating someone in Tokyo and we didn't even spend Valentines together. Maybe we went to college and I still didn't manage to confess.” He seemed increasingly distressed by each scenario, but then he shook his head and smiled. “But I think we'd get there in the end." 

Akira smiled at him, and it looked so good on him, smiling with all his heart, a small smile that actually reached his eyes. 

"Yeah. I think that too." 

The sunset became late twilight, and then there were stars. They wanted to stay a bit longer, and the full moon allowed them enough light for them to have their wish. Soon, everyone was back to the beach, ready to enjoy that warm night a little more.

They lit up the small sparkle Sojiro gave them, and for a moment, the stars were on his hands in dizzying specks of light, falling in cascate as a waterfall of sparks. 

And Akira was so damn grateful. 

The future was unknown as always, but, as the waves crashed on the sand, holding hands with someone he loved so dearly, he had more hope than fear. 

And as soon as their fireworks ended, Ryuji said a quick ‘race you to the sea!’ and they were off in a giggling mess, shoving each other and spraying sand over his friends sitting on the beach. 

Ryuji won their race, but as soon as he turned to look, the waves lapping gently at his thighs, he forgot about the race, his heart full like never before. 

He could almost taste the warm air and feel in his heart the way Akira smiled at him as he ran towards the sea, the stars gleaming lazily above their heads. 

Yusuke watched his friends running around in the sand, and he laughed at himself, for having been so oblivious before. He had only looked at the flowers, and didn't see the trees harboring them. The beautiful and elegant branches, the solidity of their roots. Everything was fleeting, and yet, eternal. Their group was the same, and they were apart now, but united like never before. They were done changing the world, but at the same, they were not, and their spirits burned with the same passion, with the same daring justice. 

Everything felt so different from when they said their goodbyes under the cherry blossoms. 

Life was a cycle. 

There was the distant splash of his friends playing in the water. The night was warm, and the tide was high. With his feet buried in the sand, he finished drawing all of them together, deciding he wanted to keep that moment and preserve it forever. The laughter, the warmth of their company, everything was like taking a very deep breath and hoping with all they had. 

He was startled out of his thoughts by Akira’s presence.

“Hey.” 

“Hello, Akira.”

“Are you having fun?” he asked, and Yusuke felt himself smiling.

Akira was always attentive like that. He knew how to respect the distance their more introverted friends needed sometimes, but he always kept an eye out for them, so they wouldn’t feel left out. 

“Yes. By the way, you are just the person I needed to talk to.” He picked up the envelope he had brought there, and gave it to his friend. 

Akira sat by his side and opened it up, feeling the air leaving his lungs. 

It was the finished drawing of all of them together in the attic.

“I’ve had it finished for a while, but I wanted to give you this on a memorable occasion.” 

Akira’s eyes were suspiciously bright, and his lower lip trembled a little, so Yusuke kept talking so his friend could gather himself a little.

The artist pulled out the sketch he had been working on.

“This other one was just a result of sudden inspiration. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to capture the concept of friendship in a piece, but if I do it… I think it’ll be astounding. Finally something adequate after I painted hope.”

“It’s beautiful, Yusuke. Both of them.” Akira’s voice was thick.

“Yusuke-kun? I think I saw a crab!” Haru called out, breaking the moment.

“What did you say?!” Yusuke stood up at once, his eyes again with that crazed look on them as he caught sight of something that truly interested him. “Show me that immediately!”

Akira smiled to himself, watching the artist sprinting to Haru’s side, and the two of them were kneeling on the sand, looking intently to a small hole not yet covered by the tide. 

He looked again at the drawing in his hands. It felt like a promise. All of them together, again and again, happy. 

He spent a few minutes still, thumbing the edge of the page, heart beating wildly in his chest. How was that even his life?

Futaba and Ryuji sprinted closer to him, intent on dragging him to the water. Akira laughed quietly, carefully laying the drawing on the farthest part of the sand, so it wouldn’t get wet, and let himself go with them. 

Summer would end, but the warmth in his heart wouldn’t leave.

  
  
  


_Autumn approaches, and the heart begins to dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. This is it. I'm content with it. The final quote is a poem by Basho.
> 
> As for the usual observations, let's see. I mention 'curls' when talking about Akira's hair, which is a generous way to put what he has going on on his head, but I've seen a lot of people translating the terms for people with that kind of hair like that, so I left it as it is. While many japanese people do have very straight hair, and waves are usually a perm, there are japanese who has Akira's type of hair, often described with terms that are translated into 'fuzzy', or even 'curly'. Haru's hair, for example, looks like a perm, while Akira's looks a lot like the fuzzy hair some japanese end up being born with. 
> 
> I wrote Mona as him adapting to his new life as well, and feeling secure about his place with Akira, and starting nurturing his own relationships. I also think it'd be nice to have Morgana thinking more about his own feelings, and realizing that maybe he was a little bit in love with some aspects of humanity, and that he can love and have fun with everyone even with his current body. Like, love shouldn't be just a monogamic romantic thing, so I wanted to have him loving and in love in a different way. Also, him not being treated as an absolute burden? Idk, I liked that concept hahaha And there was just so much potential for his and Ryuji's relationship. Dialogues just like the ones they have in the thieves' den, when they realise they're pretty similar in lots of ways. I like the thieves being real friends to each other, and not interacting only with Akira. 
> 
> And I wanted them to have that conversation again. In game, Mona asks if Akira is happy, to which Akira avoids answering, and Mona just doesn't seem to even imagine what happiness must be. I wanted them both to have that talk again, and the two of them finding in themselves to answer that yes, they're happy now. 
> 
> Also, bottom Akira having the time of his life, am I right?? I did my best there. 
> 
> About the domestic bliss scenes, I have no excuses for myself. Akira being more of a cat than a literal cat and napping under the sun? Ryuji finding out that sometimes HE is in charge of their shared brain cell?? I said yes to all of that, because we deserved that. As a treat. 
> 
> The final scene on the beach was inspired by the song Siamo ancora qui, by Fiorella Mannoia. 
> 
> And this is it. I cut out a few things for this ending, snippets of other moments that I had written already, because I wanted to focus on what I focused on. And this fic was already long enough hahaha Thank you so so much to anyone who got here. Really. Leave a comment if you felt something about this story as well. I poured all I had in it, and I'm content to see it to its end. 
> 
> I hope we meet again, someday.


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